


Sea Glass Promise

by Leonya, orderforbrian (brigarrett3)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Selkie, Fluff, Jon is a Hydrologist, M/M, Mutual Pining, Selkie AU, Selkies, Slow Burn, TimSasha if you squint, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, selkie!Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonya/pseuds/Leonya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/brigarrett3/pseuds/orderforbrian
Summary: God, it really is him. Fine, he'll admit it. He had some fleeting fantasies of meeting the boy who gave him the sea glass cradled around his necklace once again. The one who actually made him feel a little less lonely in the world. But this was a bit ridiculous. He spares a glance back at Jon to flash a reassuring smile, pretending like he's not gathering every detail about his face. Martin chides himself for not realizing earlier. Minus the grey in his hair and obvious signs of aging, Jon really hasn't changed much.Except he got handsome.His mind supplies and Martin suppresses a groan. Now was not the time to unearth the boyish crush he really thought died years ago.AU where Martin is a selkie living in Bournemouth. Him and Jon met once as children and Jon gave Martin a rare piece of sea glass that he now wears as a necklace. Jon is a hydrologist and incidentally visits Bournemouth again for a research study and they meet all over again.Some mild canon-typical danger/threats in a few chapters (will be tagged), but overall lots of fluff and mutual pining inbetween :)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 150
Kudos: 256





	1. Sea Glass Promise

A young boy sniffs, trudging along a sandy beach following the Atlantic. The sun is obscured by grey clouds, making everything in sight dull hues, the water a dark blue and the sand a subdued beige — no doubt matching Martin’s mood. He isn’t sure what he did but his mother had snapped at him something awful and he knew the only way to manage when she got like this was to escape for a couple hours until she came to find him. He never goes further than the beaches, too afraid to interact among humans without his mother as a buffer, but it’s terribly lonely. He clutches at his pelt as he slumps down in the sand. He’s found a fairly nice stick and begins drawing random shapes into the wet sand, trying to scrub away his tears. 

Another young boy wanders the beach himself, wishing his grandmother had let him take a book to the store like he wanted. Of course she’d gotten caught up in a conversation and he had become so agonizingly bored. After tugging so many times on her skirt, she finally insisted he play on the beach until she was done, careful not to wander too far. To Jon’s surprise, there was another kid about his age playing in the sand off the main shoreline. As he walks further along, he can see the kid is alone too. Either that or his parents were away for a minute, but Jon can’t see any adults nearby, or anyone really given the dreary day. He usually stays away from other kids but he’s so, _so_ bored. When he’s several feet away, Jon hears the kid choke out a small sob, which causes him to hesitate on his next step, frowning. 

_Oh, dear…_

_Well...I can’t really go back now…_

He takes a few more awkward steps until he can peer over the kid’s shoulder. 

“Are you crying?” He asks bluntly. Martin jumps at the sound, wildly turning around to look at who spoke to him. He sees a boy around his age standing over him with a quizzical scowl apparent on his face. 

“Oh,” Martin sniffs, trying to rub away some evidence of his crying. “Yeah...my mum got really mad at me. So when that happens I usually just go away until she’s not mad anymore.” He mumbles, turning back to his drawings in the sand. 

“Oh,” Jon responds flatly. “My nan got mad at me too. She told me I was being a ‘nuisance’ and I don’t think she knows I know that word, but either way it’s not nice.” Jon peers over Martin’s shoulder, his hands crossed behind his back. “What are you drawing?” Martin curls in on himself as the boy gets closer. Why is he still talking to him? He’s never had to talk to another human alone before and it was making him nervous, even if this boy seems harmless. 

“Um, jus’ drawings of things I’ve seen, like seals ‘n stuff or, er, pretty shells.” He makes a few dots in the sand absentmindedly. “I like collecting them but my mum doesn’t let me keep a lot…” He trails a finger over the line of one drawing before wrapping it back in the safety of his pelt. Jon kneels down in the sand opposite of the drawings and stares at them with interest. He points at one shell. 

“That’s a clam shell. Clams are molluscs in case you don’t know. Even an octopus is a mollusc, weirdly enough.” He points to another shell drawing. “That’s a cockle shell. Those are everywhere. Bet I could find one.” Jon gets up quickly and jogs to the shore. He times a movement when the tide recoils to snatch something out of the sand. He turns around with a closed fist and wary eyes, but perks up when he notices Martin watching him. He expected the boy was going to take the opportunity to run off and play something else, but he was waiting patiently for him to come back. Jon jogs back, panting a bit from the exertion, and kneels back down. He opens up his hand to reveal a tan cockle shell and runs a finger over the striations. “These things are called ribs. You drew them nicely there.” Jon traces the lines in the sand, careful not to disturb it. A surge of pride fills Martin with the compliment, a shy smile making its way onto his face. 

“Thanks...you know a lot about shells and stuff. I didn’t even know the name for a cockle shell.” He tries to compliment back, especially since this boy is being nice enough that it’s cheering him up. Jon’s own face lights up with determined pride.  
  
“My nan lets me go to the library and I read about the ocean. I’ve read a lot, so I’ll probably know the answer if you have a question.”  
  
“Oh? Well, do you know what this one is? I’ve seen it a lot.” Martin draws out a simplified version of what appears to be a sea urchin in the sand. Jon makes a smug face. 

“That one’s easy. It’s a sea urchin. All those spindles are like its arms and legs. Kinda gross if you ask me. Looks like a spider and I hate spiders.” 

“I don’t mind spiders, especially if they’re the really fuzzy ones. Sharks scare me though.” 

Jon shakes his head and makes a noise of childish disgust at the thought of spiders, even fuzzy ones. Martin giggles a bit but his spirits dampen when Jon gets up abruptly and starts walking towards the shore again. He probably scared him off. He goes to continue drawing alone again, but hears a voice shout behind him. 

“Well, come on then! I have to find something!” 

Martin turns to see Jon kicking up his shoes and rolling up the cuffs of his trousers. His heart soars at the action of being included and he rushes to stand, running over to the other boy.  
  
“What are you looking for?” 

“I wanna find a not gross sea urchin. It’s called a sand dollar. Do you know what a sand dollar is?” 

“Um, I think so? They’re flat and white with, uh — it looks like there’s a flower in the middle?”

Jon nods while wading into the shallow water, shivering a bit as the cold tide hits his legs.  
  
“Yeah, those are dead sand dollars though. That’s why they’re all white, like a ghost. I want an alive sand dollar so look for one that’s grey and in the water.” Martin gives back a determined nod and starts searching around the loose sand. Jon bends down to stick his hands in the water then stands back up suddenly, pointing over at Martin. 

“Your blanket’s getting all wet.” 

Martin glances down, noticing part of his pelt dragging in the water.  
  
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s meant to get wet!” To his relief, even though Jon looks like he doesn’t understand, he’s more focused on finding a sand dollar to ask any more questions.   
  


* * *

  
As the two boys search, the air is filled with Jon sprouting any facts about anything Martin would pick up or point out. They spend a while like that in the tides, ignoring the cold of the water numbing their hands and feet. The warmth of a newfound friend makes the brisk sea more than bearable. After wading deeper into the water, much to Jon’s distress, Martin spots something that seems to fit the description and dunks his hands down to cradle it.  
  
“Oh, is this a sand dollar here?”  
  
“Come back, I can’t see it.”   
  
Martin wades back over and Jon adjusts his glasses to study it.   
  
“Yeah! Good eye.” He flips the sand dollar over gently in Martin’s hands. “If you look close, you can see all its little legs. Its got ‘em on its front and back. They’re proper tiny though so look really hard.” Martin holds the sand dollar closer and sure enough can see a wave like motion on the creature’s surface, little bristles moving in different directions. He wrinkles his nose at the sight.  
  
“It’s a bit creepy, but it is kind of cool like you said.” 

After gently releasing the sand dollar back into its home, the two boys trek slowly along the shore, Martin listening intently to Jon’s rambling. The tide laps at their ankles, their bodies now accustomed to the temperate ocean water instead of the frigid breeze. 

“— so the teeth form something called Aristotle’s lantern. It’s called that because — woah!” Jon races up the shore to dig his hands into the sand. He pulls out a vibrant blue shard, inspecting it carefully around all angles. Martin catches up to him, eyes wide.  
  
“What is that? It’s so pretty…”   
  
“It’s sea glass. Salt from the ocean that got all mashed up. I think it’s…” Jon’s face scrunches up and he racks a hand through his already mussed up hair. “Corn...flower blue? Or cobalt even…? Either way, this is a rare color, I know that.” 

They both ogle the sea glass, bits of it reflecting back beautifully into their faces. Jon frowns and fidgets his finger across it. He _really_ wants to keep this. But this other kid is making it hard for him to take it for himself.   
  
“Hey, uh,” He pouts his lip a bit and holds out the sea glass. “You should have it. You listened to me talk all day. Not a lot of people do that.”   
  
Martin’s eyes flit between the glass and Jon’s insistent face.  
  
“R-really?” He reaches out but stops short, his fingers curling back into his palm. “But, you found it first. You don’t have to give it to me just because I listened. I’m just happy you talked to me. Not a lot of people do…”   
  
“I come to this beach all the time. I’m sure I’ll find another one if I really want to.” Jon asserts. “And if not, I have the pictures at the library.” When Martin continues to hesitate, Jon tries to prompt him, holding out the sea glass further with furrowed eyebrows. “Come on then.” Martin finally concedes, grasping the piece with both hands and clutching it close to his chest.   
  
“Thank you...I’ll make sure to keep it safe!”  
  
“You better!” Jon sternly urges. Martin nods enthusiastically which quells Jon’s worries. The two smile at each other until the silence is broken by the sound of a name being called out. Jon instinctively turns towards town. “Oh, I think that’s my nan calling for me. I’ve got to go —” He turns back suddenly, holding his hands out. “Wait, stay here! I wanna show her the sea glass! I’ll be right back.” 

Martin nods and watches Jon clumsily run down the beach. He’s content to stay waiting, but hears a distant bark behind him. It sounds like his mother has finally come to find him and if he doesn’t leave now, she’ll only get mad again for making her wait.  
  
“I’m sorry…” Martin says to out of reach ears. He quickly shrugs on the rest of his pelt and turns towards the ocean, sea glass held tight in his hand. 

Jon pulls on his grandmother’s hand and she allows herself to be guided with some resistance, not wanting to trip in the loose sand. “It’s rare sea glass! The cornflower blue type! We found it on…” Jon trails off as he looks back to the sea to find the boy gone, seemingly out of thin air.  
  
“Huh?” His grandmother takes her hand away, letting Jon’s fall limp against his side.  
  
“Jonathan. Imagination is one thing, but you shouldn’t tell lies.” She chides him.

“B-but, there was —!”  
  
“Jonathan.” She warns. He fidgets with the end of his jumper.  
  
“Sorry, nan…” 

“Seems like you had fun though. Let’s get your things.” Jon feels his grandmother’s hand on his back, leading him away from the shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a reupload of our first fic, so if you've seen it before that's why it's here again lol  
> regardless, this is still the first fic we've ever written so comments are much appreciated! (please be nice <:3c) we hope to actually post semi-regularly this time and have a few chapters to buffer while we edit the others
> 
> Leo: this is what happens when you force your wife to finish TMA and you're bored in quarantine together  
> Bri: me and Leo were like "whats the gayest thing Jon could give to Martin" and both posted sea glass in discord at the same time lol


	2. A Hydrologist's Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief description of drowning, general character distress (canon-typical)

It was a weird situation, but in a roundabout way it made sense. 

Jon was heading to Bournemouth in a rental vehicle his company had provided, his hydrology equipment stowed in the back. It was unusual to be without a team on a research trip, but he'd made a few compromises to save some funding and avoid the humidity of the more tropic areas of the Atlantic where others had gone. He just never enjoyed the warmer climates like his colleagues seemed to. Fortunately, his grandmother still lived in the same flat in Bournemouth and it would be a perfect opportunity to check in on her. Something he had neglected, at least in the physical sense, for more than a few months. That and, well, free housing. Always a plus. 

Despite being his grandmother, she was only in her late seventies and fiercely independent, so Jon never felt too worried about his prolonged absences. Thus, visiting felt more like an obligation than a necessity. He was far more concerned about getting his work done at an efficient enough pace to keep up with schedule. He was fairly confident he could do it alone, certain they wouldn’t have sent him if he hadn’t pulled far bigger projects by himself in the past. However, field research was a bit more time consuming, travelling to sites and taking samples seeming to take more hours to finish than he always expects. In between that and any spontaneous interruptions being home may bring, he was pushing down nerves as he pulled into a parking space. Besides, he could always rely on old tricks should family get too overbearing — shut away in his room, a park, or the library. Hell, maybe he could even find his old library card. 

When he arrived, his grandmother gave him a smile and a hug, then evidently didn’t waste any time after that to pester him about if he brought enough clothes, how he packed his equipment as he carried the boxes in, and by the way, your old room may have changed into my closet. After moving all of her clothing into the  _ actual  _ closet, Jon was keen to get his work started, giving a quick kiss goodbye and eagerly stepping through the door, swinging his bag around his shoulder. He can only hope these next few weeks will go by smoothly.   
  


* * *

  
Jon steps slowly along the docks, craning his head over tall railings in an attempt to peer down the line of commercial fishing ships. He had a vague idea who he was looking for based on a low resolution picture he found on a company website, though it didn’t help that said person was barely facing the camera when it was taken. He almost misses a broad figure leaning against the side of one large vessel, their dark jacket almost disappearing into the blue greys of the ship. Jon approaches the edge of the dock, reading “Tundra” in stiff white on the side of the ship, then clears his throat. 

“Pardon me.” 

The figure appears to hunch over in a sigh before turning around, peering down over the edge with a raised eyebrow. Jon doesn’t pay much mind to his reaction, his experience with sailors revealing some to be perpetually stand-offish to outsiders like himself. 

“Would you happen to be Captain Lukas?” 

It’s enough for the man to turn around fully and lean his arms across the railing, taking a puff from a pipe.

“Yes. Who might you be?” His voice gruff from age, but his tone is pleasant nonetheless. Jon would raise an eyebrow given how tacky he appeared, with his coarse white beard, smoking a pipe in a long, black captain’s coat, but he retains his professional composure. 

“I’m a hydrologist based in London. I’m here for a study so I’ll need a tour of the coastline to get an idea of the area I’ll be researching. My company recommended you.” 

“Hm, I think for £100 we can surely arrange that.” Peter smiles, close lipped and hidden for the most part under his beard. 

“I could also have them recommend someone else for £0.” Jon retorts. Peter’s eyebrow turns up even further and he takes a long drag of his pipe, looking over the man up and down. Such disdain from someone of rather short stature, along with the fact that this man thought he was serious about the money, makes him audibly chuckle. He follows up the laugh with a friendly and nonchalant tone, masking his contempt. 

“Was just a joke there. Didn’t mean harm by it.”

“Oh,” Jon’s brows furrow and he crosses his arms. “Well, if you  _ are  _ willing to give me a tour, how much do I owe you? And please, I’d prefer candid answers.” 

"No need for payment. Make enough in the market as is.” Peter waves a hand, leaning more heavily onto the railing. “Have to make a fishing run soon though, but should be back in the early evening. Can take you then.” 

“Could you give me a more  _ specific  _ timeframe than early evening?” Jon turns up an annoyed brow. 

“Hm.” Peter’s eyes turn up in thought and he takes another puff from his pipe. “At earliest, four. At latest, six.”    
  
Jon’s face scrunches up before he draws out a weary sigh, adjusting his glasses. “Right then. I’ll be...here.” 

* * *

_  
Oh, thank god — he’s leaving.  _

Martin’s dread finally dispels when he glances through the window for the umpteenth time, seeing the stranger walking away from the docks, away from Lukas. There was never any solid proof that he could gather up, nor does Martin know who he would bring this evidence to, but Captain Lukas had a rather nasty habit of letting passengers “fall” off his boat. Said passengers would nearly drown unless someone else intervened. By far the worst part was how Peter feigned innocence, claiming all of it “accidental” and “unfortunate circumstances”, having used everything at his disposal to help, as if there wasn’t the very,  _ very  _ simple protocol of throwing a life preserver  _ towards  _ the person drowning. Peter was smart though, and disgustingly affable when he wanted to be. And he had money. A _lot_ of money. These, in combination with the fact that these “accidents'' happened so infrequently, caused little suspicion to be aroused. But Martin’s keen sense of unease whenever that ship passed by was reason enough to investigate, if only a little. And little did it take for Martin to see right through Peter’s façade. Since then, he’s been making his best effort to observe from a distance and only intervene when things became life threatening. Unfortunately, time after time each new victim of Peter Lukas has proven that intervention is necessary; Martin could count on both hands how many unsuspecting people he’s pulled to shore over the past several years. Even more unfortunate was that his actions didn’t seem to have gone by unnoticed. As of late, Peter had started stowing away a harpoon gun on all his ships, which Martin had the  _ lovely  _ pleasure of becoming acquainted with during a few recent incidents. He’s not clear as to why Peter’s doing any of it in the first place, but he’s not eager to find out. So the last thing he wants is another naïve soul thinking it was a good idea to trust their life in the hands of Captain Lukas.

Martin sighs wearily as he collects up a few glasses scattered around the café, catching the attention of Tim who folds his arms across the counter, raising an eyebrow. 

“Geez, mate. Didn’t think those last two customers were  _ that  _ bad.” 

“O-oh, no, Tim. I’m just…” Martin spares another look outside the window and his strained smile reflects back at him. “Just, uh, happy! Looks like it’s going to rain. Always nice when it rains. Sort of, uh, comforting.”

Tim tilts his head to peer out the window with a disappointed look. 

“Maybe for you. Ugh, I wanted to go boating after work...” He whines and crosses his arms on the counter, settling his head down with a theatrical sigh. 

  
His shift couldn't have ended fast enough. The bell above the door rings as Martin pushes it open, waving to Tim before heading out. He tries to steady his pace while coming down the steps to the boardwalk, eyes peeled on the docks. Throughout his whole shift he’d been trying and failing not to agonize over the stranger that had spoken with Peter earlier. Even after he had walked away, Martin couldn’t help but worry that wasn’t the end of their encounter. Especially if it was someone from out of town, he’d likely sought out Peter for a favor, something the latter is all too willing to exploit.

In the distance, Martin catches sight of the two chatting again. His stomach sinks as he watches the man actually boarding on Peter’s ship this time, noticing they’re taking Peter’s personal boat rather than the commercial one. He groans, writhing from a combination of frustration and apprehension. Why couldn’t people just stay safe? But he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing his negligence might cost someone their life. Mustering up what courage he has, Martin treks off the stairs towards the dark clouds gathering above the greying ocean.   
  


* * *

  
Jon scans the coastline with a pair of binoculars, marking an area of particular interest on a printed map. The dark clouds weren’t ideal for such a task, but it was better than delaying for another day. Sure, it would be lovely to prolong his stay in Bournemouth for sentimental reasons, such as the nostalgic desire to relive his childhood days of being criticized daily about peculiar habits by his grandmother, but alas, Jon felt the sooner he could go back to his own city flat, the better he’d feel. Also, the sooner he could end this tour with an unexpectedly chatty captain, the better. As Peter’s voice cuts through the wind, Jon feels his eyes rolling instinctively behind the binoculars. 

“So, London, huh?”

“Yes.” Jon responds curtly. Several quiet moments pass while Peter waits expectantly for more details, but Jon doesn’t oblige, continuing to focus on scouting. Peter raises his eyebrows with a deep frown, adjusting his grip on the wheel. 

“This your first time in Bournemouth?”

“No.” 

“Grew up here?” 

“Mm.” 

“Oh, well, welcome back then.”

The whistles of the wind fill the air again, only momentarily before Peter drives a stake through Jon’s concentration yet again. 

“Have any family still here?”

“Mm.” 

“You said your last name is Sims, right? Think I might know a Sims or two.”

Jon purposefully pauses his work to draw out a loud sigh. He wasn’t much for small talk revolving around his personal life, much less family, content to give vague answers so as to divert the conversation if he knew the interaction wasn’t going to last past a single encounter. However, not only was Captain Lukas’s incessant questioning trifling, it was putting an uneasy feeling deep in Jon’s gut that he couldn’t blame on the sway of the sea. The captain practically lit up earlier when Jon had reiterated he was alone on his research trip and that no one would be coming to join him. So even if his eagerness for intimate details was a horrid attempt at friendly conversation, it wasn’t going to be obliged. Jon brings the binoculars down to his chest and shoots a glare over his shoulder.  
  
“I apologize if I didn’t make it clear, Captain Lukas, but I  _ am  _ working right now and would rather like to avoid distractions.” He enunciates crossly before returning his eyes to the binoculars. Peter grimaces at the helm, but stays silent. He already had enough to make an informed decision.   
  


Even more dark clouds had rolled around into the evening sky and Jon could feel himself rushing work at this point, wanting to finish up in case the captain’s forecast was confidently incorrect. There wasn’t any harm in a thunderstorm, he was certainly used to and quite enjoyed them, but out at sea it’s far different — far more dangerous. As Jon circles an alcove on the coast map, a droplet of rain immediately bleeds the printed ink. He tuts indignantly and looks up, only to see a flash of lightning then the crack of thunder a couple seconds later, making him jump as it seemed to sound right above them. The wind picks up, blowing up misty spray from the choppy waves into Jon’s face, and he lifts an arm to keep his vision clear. Despite his best efforts, work had evidently gotten away from him and this storm didn’t seem like it was going to pass over soon. 

“You said it wasn’t going to storm!” Jon shouts, frustrated, gripping the railing as he makes his way to his bag. He shoves the map and papers inside urgently, glad to at least had the forethought to stow away his glasses beforehand. 

“Hold on — I’ll turn us around!” Peter shouts from the helm with false reassurance, smiling as he spins the wheel sharply. The ship turns at a pace Jon has never felt before, causing him to lurch from the sudden shift. He’s able to grip the railing in time, but the turn goes even deeper, waves crashing against the boat and spilling water over the side. Jon’s palm slips from the slick railing and the dark sea steadfast approaches to swallow him. His last thought is marked by the word ‘capsize’ before he loses consciousness.   
  


* * *

  
For some time now, Martin had been following the boat at a distance, careful not to be seen. Experience had unfortunately taught him some blindspots in Peter’s scouting and he moved swiftly whenever the boat turned slightly. The last thing he needed was to be caught by the madman. As his surveillance continued however, Martin’s body was starting to fatigue from keeping up pace. He considered turning back because, well, all he had heard was idle conversation from the surface. Maybe this  _ was  _ just a completely normal, non-threatening boat ride. Another wave surges towards him and Martin shakes out of his thoughts to push through it. That’s right, it was storming now, and he could sense that things were going to get bad very soon. There’s no way Peter would willingly cast out in this weather unless he had a death wish pinned on some unsuspecting victim. 

A few minutes later proves his suspicions correct when the boat’s rudder turns sharply, sending somebody careening off the boat and into the stormy sea. Martin hesitates to rush forward, knowing full well Peter was eagerly anticipating him to jump to the rescue. When the body sinks deep enough, he darts forward and grabs the man by his jacket collar, the latter laying limp in his hold. He begins to tediously drag the body back towards land when a large object breaks through the surface and shoots past Martin’s side, narrowly missing him by only a couple feet. He grits his teeth harder, knowing Peter just fired at him, and pushes himself to swim faster. Luckily, the turbulent waves are heading inland and help carry them along until they’re out of range for Peter to follow. With safety ensured, Martin breaches the surface with the man in tow, allowing the latter much needed air. He dips down into the water and pops back up, repositioning so the man’s arms are wrapped around his side. His body is still limp but otherwise showing signs of life. After hearing a few fitful coughs, Martin can feel his shallow breathing and slender fingers stirring, occasionally brushing against his fur as they ride towards the beach. 

Martin drags the man’s body onto the shore near an outcropping of rocks, shielding them from the rain and prying eyes. He tries to lay the man’s head into the sand as gently as possible, but he’s still limp and awkward to hold while in seal form; his head ends up hitting the sand with a loud thud. Martin grimaces internally when he hears a soft moan of pain below him. Playing hero like this never went perfectly for him, but in the end one has to be thankful it was better than nothing. After checking to find the coast clear and the stranger’s eyes are still shut tight, Martin slips his pelt off, shaking excess seawater from his hair. He pushes it back as he leans over the man, checking for a pulse on his neck. Relief washes over him when he finds one — it’s slow but at least present. However, Martin’s eyes snap up when he hears a coarse gurgle. The stranger’s brows are creased and he seems to be struggling to breath. Martin swiftly rolls him to the side, giving a few thumps against his back. He jumps as the stranger’s hand suddenly reaches out and grips his thigh while he chokes out sea water. Martin gently flicks it off back into the sand, a blush tinting his cheeks. The incident is easy enough to forget though as he hears soft breathing from the man. He smiles, reassured by the other’s resting face, and begins checking over the body for injuries.   
  


  
  


While checking the underside of one of the legs, Martin hears a soft groan and feels the leg stirs in his grip. His heart skips a beat as he looks up to find the man’s eyes fluttering open as he weakly leans up on his elbows. They make hazy eye contact for a brief second, Martin's breath hitches. Despite his clouded thoughts and pounding heart, he’s able to tear away and duck behind some of the rocks near the shore. He pulls the pelt around him with shaking hands and dips back into the waters, not wanting a “dear stranger, why did you save my life” explanation on top of a “yeah, so selkies are real” situation. After moving further out, Martin peeks his eyes just above the surface to ensure the man was still doing well and, more importantly, not trying to track him down. Everything appears well enough as the man looks around confused, obviously searching for someone who’s no longer present. Well, at least in a way he can perceive. Martin can afford mild confusion —that’s predictable at least. The last thing he needs is another ruthless hunter in the making. These things are awkward enough as is.   
  


* * *

  
The strangest things seem to happen at sea. Maybe that’s why Jon never cared to go out too far, despite enjoying the complexity of water itself. His head is still spinning from the impact, the throbbing pain muddling his thoughts further. He sits up fully, his muscles protesting with each movement. He attempts to push back the wet hair clinging to his face, but the pouring rain only pushes it back down. Jon sighs, trying to recollect what brought him to this point — sitting disoriented on a stormy beach without an umbrella. The distinct feeling of smooth, velvety skin lingers on his palms and he remembers being pulled gently through the water. By who or... _ what _ he’s not entirely sure. Admittedly vague, he still recalls feeling a human touch at some point, so it certainly couldn’t have been an animal.   
  


...Could it?  
  


Strange things really  _ do  _ happen at sea.   
  


Sounds of footsteps approaching the area cause Jon to look up, expecting to find whoever saved him. His face draws blank when Peter turns the corner. 

“Oh, you’re alright then. Phew. You took quite the tumble there! Good thing we were able to pull you out.” Peter leans down, holding out Jon’s bag, now soaking wet. Jon’s curiosity about his savior melts away and is rapidly replaced by haughty anger. He snatches the bag out of Peter’s hands with a furious scowl.  
  
“A tumble?! Don’t you dare insinuate this was in any way  _ my _ fault. I asked you to turn around, not throw me into the  _ bloody  _ ocean!!” He stands up and sways, his legs tensing up from the sudden movement. Peter tries to hold out his hands to support him, but Jon brushes them away with a loud scoff. He aggressively tries to clean the wet sand from his jacket, making a variety of outraged noises. While taking a few steps away, he continues to futilely clean himself up, clutching his belongings. Peter gets up and takes slow steps to catch up with him. He grits his teeth, but tries to put on an apologetic smile. It was worth it to play innocent through this irritating offense if it meant he could use him as bait for the selkie again.  
  
“Woah, let’s not be hasty with the accusations, lad! Really, it was an accident, and it won’t —” 

Jon’s pulled out his glasses at this point, having attempted to clean them only to smear the water in a way that further obscured his vision, and instead waves them around in Peter’s face as he gestures irately.  
  
“Accident or not, I almost drowned!! You —  _ You  _ are by far the most incompetent sea captain I have ever had the miserable excuse of doing business with! And it is without regret that I will be taking my work  _ elsewhere _ .” Jon gives a final, pointed scoff before storming off, leaving Peter shooting daggers at his back. It takes Peter a significant amount of self-restraint to not grab the disrespectful, little researcher by the collar and throw him back into the raging sea. No doubt it would be easy, but he’ll just have to be content observing until further notice. Besides, if the selkie is who he suspects, it’s likely things will work out in his favor and he’ll then have ample opportunities to make sure that hydrologist regrets his little outburst.  
  


* * *

  
Martin chuckles to himself as he dives back down. That researcher really chewed out Peter and he relished every word of it, thankful he hadn’t remained in his human form because he would’ve laughed throughout the entire snub and given his position away. He rides the waves back to a secluded area of the shore and checks around for any passersby before removing his pelt, shaking off the water from his hair once more. He smiles and laughs cheekily again. God, it really was satisfying to see a short temper directed towards someone who actually deserved it, and especially someone who’s caused Martin more than a fair amount of personal distress. 

As he makes his way down the boardwalk, Martin spots the researcher again in the distance, still cursing and shaking sand out his coat as he walks towards town. He shakes his head and laughs, starting down his own path back to his flat. That man looked like the type who could hold a wicked grudge. Good thing too, hopefully that meant his spat with Peter had enough finality to it that he wouldn’t put himself in danger anymore. Or at least, danger in regard to Peter. He couldn’t be certain about other things.    
  


Might do well to check up on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you haven't noticed yet, Peter is the definite sea villain of this AU lol
> 
> this chapter is much more narrative/introductory and perilous then the next few, introducing plot yadda yadda, so we will get to the fluff next time :)
> 
> Leo: if you ever question Peter's motives, he's rich...rich people just act like that, they think they can just do whatever evil things pop into their head  
> Bri: if the scene where martin holds jon seems reminiscent of the little mermaid, no it is, but yes, but no  
> also i don't know shit about hydrology, im basing this all off my own biology/sciences career


	3. A First Meeting, And Then Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for very brief mentions of drowning (strictly for the word itself and recall from previous chapter)

The light of dawn barely begins to stretch over the ocean, illuminating a sole figure on the beach who just notices the rising sun. He decides it’s a good time to adjust the electric lantern on his cluttered mat, dimming it to a soft yellow glow, before going back to scrawling in his notebook, looking up every so often between vials of water samples and their corresponding test strips. Early mornings were the most ideal time for research but they never felt like mornings to Jon, the outside still dark and cold whenever he awoke. Even in the middle of summer, the temperature would drop enough overnight that he would have to shrug a jumper on underneath his jacket before heading out. The frigid wind may tug heavy yawns out of him, the need for sleep still nestled in dark circles under his eyes, but it’s all worth it if it means there’s no one around to distract him; no one to disturb the water from its natural state. 

Over the sound of the waves and birds, he hears a faint seal bark. His eyes to flick up and when he doesn’t see anything in his immediate periphery, he buries himself back into work. Another bark sounds a minute later, closer this time. His eyes look up again and this time he sees a large harbour seal climbing onto the rocks by the shore. 

“Huh. Seems I’m not the only one up early...” Jon remarks to himself, returning back to his notes. It’s very common to see seals around the Atlantic coast, so he pays it little mind. After all, they were called harbour seals for a reason and he was at the harbour. Naturally, it’ll keep its distance and Jon will respectfully leave it well alone. His peace of mind is dashed however when a third bark sounds much closer than he expects, startling him so badly he almost knocks over several pieces of equipment. Clutching his chest, he looks to see the same seal bounding over in his direction, a few meters away at this point. Panic grips him and he feels his muscles tense with adrenaline. He thinks to stand, but hesitates. Would he rather risk potentially getting attacked or let his equipment get destroyed? He freezes, head turning around in every direction in search for some factor to guide his decision, but he’s only met with a barren beach. Jon’s eyes shoot back to the grey steadily approaching him. He makes a variety of distressed half sentences, ultimately placing his hands in front of him and leaning away in a meek attempt to deter the animal from coming closer. The seal only pauses once it sees Jon’s arms shoot up, close enough to stretch out its neck and curiously sniff at his hands. Apparently finding nothing interesting, it waddles closer, hitting the tips of Jon’s boots now, then stares at him. There’s a tense silence as the seal sits across from him, glassy, black eyes boring into his. He’s about to shift back when the seal makes a small huff, flopping across his legs. Jon yelps in surprise and splays his arms out, fully anticipating the seal was finally going to attack him. When all he feels is squishy weight on his legs, he peers down at the seal with a mixture of confusion, relief, and apprehension. 

“Wh...uh...I’m — I’m not a place to lounge on, shoo.” He meekly flicks a hand towards it, barely extending his elbow out. The seal remains undisturbed, bobbing its head around to sniff along his legs. It crawls further onto him, rooting its snout behind his back which rouses a small, panicked shriek out of Jon. 

“Oh — come on then, shoo! I have important work to finish.” He raises his voice sternly. It only continues to huff while inspecting him, moving with no apparent fear which Jon found entirely perplexing. Normally this curious behavior would be any biologist’s dream, but Jon is a lone hydrologist and this is only serving to distress him. Plus, he had read once that it was really only the young pups that were playful, so why was this adult seal so keen to climb all over him like an excited dog? Even now, it managed to reach his torso, still inspecting him intently. The sheer weight of a full grown seal is daunting to say the least and Jon doesn’t exactly have the most intimidating physique to ward it off. He tries to lift up his legs from underneath with a prolonged grunt, but only manages to stretch his arms up from the mat, barely budging. His phone lies tauntingly out of reach across from him and Jon looks around desperately again for some much needed help, but is met once again with a deserted, early morning beach. He figures that would be just his luck. With a resigned sigh, Jon slowly stares back down at the seal and jostles his legs to try and grab the thing’s attention.   
  
_ Good lord, I can’t believe I’m about to plead to a seal.   
  
_ “It’s rather high priority work, I might add. So, er, please. Get off of me.” Jon implores. He sucks on his cheek, wondering if animals could actually interpret human intonation.  “Please?” He tacks on. The seal seems to at least register he’s speaking since it glances up at him, but if it knew what he was saying, the meaning was largely ignored. Instead it pushes up onto his chest, shoving Jon down to his elbows and knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

“Jesuschrist—” 

The seal brushes around his face, whiskers tickling Jon’s neck. A small peep of laughter escapes him and he reflexively scrunches up his shoulders, to which the seal simply ducks its head underneath his arm. The small moment is cut short when Jon feels sharp claws dig into his thighs and he grimaces in pain. Immediately, the seal turns a concerned head back to Jon’s face and tucks its flippers. Once Jon stops wincing, it goes back to rooting around his space. Jon observes the animal with a mixture of wary confusion and genuine surprise, raising an eyebrow. It had ensured his comfort before continuing to interact, like it was hyper-aware of its body in relation to his, and very strangely attuned to human responses. It was simultaneously the smartest and weirdest seal he had ever encountered. Admittedly, he is intrigued to know how it might react to other stimuli, but he was losing precious time for his own, non-seal related research and is very much ready to stop playing wildlife biologist. 

Knowing he can barely disentangle himself with the seal having pinned him down, Jon figures his best bet is to try to push it off instead. Gently of course. At least a poke as a signal that he’d like to be left well enough alone now. So far it doesn’t seem aggressive, like it wants to attack him or...eat him or something.   
  
Hopefully.

Jon lifts a hesitant hand, extending a couple fingers out. It takes what feels like ages to press them into the seal’s skin. They’re met with cold, damp, bristly fur and then an incredible softness, like pressing into a sponge cake. Curiosity almost overtakes Jon’s senses, wanting to press even deeper just for the squishing sensation, but the seal cranes its neck around towards his hand with a gaping mouth. Jon yelps, recoiling his hand back to the safety of his chest just in time. However, his action isn’t without consequence as the seal nips at his trouser leg, but there’s barely any force behind it — like it was simply matching Jon’s warning poke. Ultimately though his plan works and the seal shuffles off him with a loud huff. With the weight lifted, Jon can finally draw a deep breath and he runs a hand down his sweater, feeling a damp trail from where it had been laid on. He figures  that must be the end of the seal’s interest in him and hopes it's already half way down the beach. However, he looks over to see the seal still laying on the mat and staring up at him, unblinking. Jon stares back, mostly out of pure bewilderment, but finds it difficult to maintain eye contact given the absurdity of the situation. His eyes flick between the seal and the beach, still no one around to witness such an odd interaction. At this point, he’s glad; he’s having a staring contest with a  _ seal _ for God’s sake, no one needs to see that. 

“Is there…something...” Jon starts, voice quiet. The seal tilts its head, like it’s actually listening, and Jon pauses, wondering what the hell exactly this thing still wanted from him. He tries the first idea that pops into his head. “Listen, if you’re waiting for food, I don’t have any. Sorry to disappoint.” 

They continue staring at each other for a few moments until the seal suddenly breaks eye contact, moving its head towards Jon’s. Fearing the worst, he screws his eyes shut and waits for an inevitable bite. But rather than sharp teeth, Jon feels a wet snout bump against his temple and then a loud snort that blows up his hair. He opens his eyes to watch the seal pull back and it barks in a way that Jon swears could pass as a mischievous laugh. The animal rolls off the mat over into the sand and then ambles its way back to the ocean. Speechless, Jon stares off in the seal’s path, watching it slip back into the water, eventually blending into the tide. In the distance, its head bobs up between the waves to look at Jon one last time before disappearing into the waters below. 

“What in the world…” Jon trails off, absentmindedly touches the spot on his temple where it had bumped against. As his wonderment fades, Jon realizes he’s been left with a damp, sticky hand and an even damper, stickier temple. He groans in disgust and tries to find a towel amongst the clutter to clean up with.   
  


* * *

  
“What are you two staring at?” Martin questions as he walks in for his shift at the café. Tim and Sasha are crowded by the large side window, looking out at the coastline. Normally it’s the customers gazing out the scenic view, so Martin is glad there aren’t any right now for his coworkers to be towering over. 

“Oh, just that guy out there. He’s been on the beach since before we even opened.” Sasha states, barely glancing back. 

“So? Lots of people spend hours at the beach.” Martin shrugs while putting on his apron, tying a loose knot in the back. There’s no doubt in his mind who they’re staring at, but he’s not about to let that on. Tim is the one to barely glance back this time. 

“Pft — at six in the morning though? This guy isn’t even doing beach things. He’s wearing a suit jacket. At the  _ beach _ . Bit weird if you ask me.” 

Martin frowns and joins them over at the window. He spots the figure in the distance wearing a familiar olive tweed coat, hunched over something intently. 

“Oh, I think I’ve seen him around. He’s new, a researcher of some sort?” 

“Researcher?” Sasha turns around intrigued, Tim following closely behind. 

“Do you think he’s studying pollution? God, if the beach gets closed down...” Tim throws a dramatic hand over his forehead, pretending to faint onto Sasha’s shoulder. “How am I gonna have romantic boat dates without an ocean, Sash?”

“There are plenty of other seas in the sea, Timothy.” She jokes, allowing him to lean on her for support while she presses her face to the window again. Martin shakes his head with a laugh. 

“What if he sees you? I don’t think most people appreciate gawking.”

“We aren’t gawking, we’re just...an  _ interested  _ audience.” Sasha clarifies. 

“You know, research needs exposure and all that.” Tim waves a dismissive hand. 

“Pft, right…” Martin snorts. He takes another glance out the window, seeing the man collecting samples now, the tide lapping against his boots. He wonders if...Jon? He thinks that’s his name? It was muffled through the water but he’s pretty sure he heard Peter calling him that on the boat. Anyway, he wonders if Jon even realizes the gravity of yesterday’s situation. He nearly drowned and yet he’s bulldozing through work and hurling himself right back into the ocean like nothing happened. 

And he let a seal incapacitate him. 

A  _ seal _ . 

Alright, to be fair, it’s entirely possible Jon just didn’t want to hurt an animal. Martin was actually rather relieved Jon let a seal climb all over him, allowing him to get close enough to determine he was still safe and well. However, after only two days of watching this researcher, Martin is convinced he’s going to become well acquainted with Jon’s self preservation habits, or lack thereof. He sighs internally, weary. Sometimes he wished he didn’t care so much. But he only has himself to blame, practically shoving his way into a stranger’s well being yet again. Maybe he should go introduce himself finally. That way if Jon sees him around more frequently, they’ll at least be acquainted. 

“I think I’ll bring him a cuppa.” Martin says then shuffles behind the counter, perusing the different types of tea tins stacked along it, wondering what Jon might like. Tim whips around with an incredulous look. 

“Really? Why?” 

“I mean if he’s been out there as long as you said I’ll bet he could probably use a pick me up.” Martin gives a small shrug while preparing the tea infuser, having settled on a black tea. Could never go wrong with classic English breakfast. Sasha smiles at the gesture. 

“Aw, I think that’s sweet of you, Martin. Tell us how it goes with mystery researcher guy!”   
  


* * *

  
Minutes later, Martin leaves the café, ignoring Tim spouting off a list of questions to ask. He ambles across the beach, balancing his fingers around the plastic cup of tea. He wonders if Jon will even notice someone approaching. Almost every time Martin had seen him thus far, he was thoroughly engrossed in his work, face shoved into a notebook or something similar. Accurate to his prediction, Jon doesn’t spare so much as a single glance as Martin makes his way over. Even when he stands several feet away, certain Jon would finally notice his presence, the man continues to mumbles to himself, eyes glued on a rack of vials. He stays silent for a minute, expecting Jon might just need to wrap up a thought before addressing him, but when there’s still no response, Martin politely clears his throat. 

“Hi, pardon —”

A finger shoots up in his direction accompanied with urgent shushing noises. Martin frowns, clicking his mouth shut.  
  
_ Well, that’s rather rude.  _

Nonetheless, he waits patiently, drumming his fingers over the rim of the cup, and a few moments later Jon lifts up a thin slip of paper from one of the vials and compares its color to a laminated reference. He finally gives a quick glance over his shoulder at Martin while scribbling a few numbers into his notebook. 

“Something you need? I have a permit to be here.” 

“Oh, no, no. You’re not in trouble or anything.” Martin laughs with a reassuring wave then turns, pointing behind him. “I work at the café over there. We noticed you’d been on the beach for a while so we thought you might like something to drink. On the house, of course.” He gives a customer service smile while bending down to offer the cup. 

“Oh, um, thanks.” Jon turns around halfway and gestures with his pen to one of the few spots not cluttered with equipment. “You can just, uh, leave it there. I’m, er, in the middle of something rather time sensitive. But thank you.” 

Figures that Jon isn’t interested in even a simple introduction. But Martin’s not one to press, especially to someone who probably just sees him as a distraction right now, so he obliges and nestles the cup on the mat. 

“Right then. Um, good luck with whatever you’ve got going on there. If you’d like another cuppa, café's open until three. Oh, and I’m Martin by the way! I-if that matters...at all. Um, right. Bye.” Martin tries to glean some basic introduction before leaving but trails off with each word as they’re met only with continued silence. He groans quietly, stepping back to make his way to the café without any answers for the barrage of questions awaiting him there. He’s sure Jon will be set up again tomorrow and he can try to prompt him into further conversation then; maybe get a chance to voice some appropriately vague concerns about Jon’s work related choices. He only gets a few meters away though before a voice calls out from behind him. 

“Oh, actually, er — hold on a moment!” 

“Need something?” Martin turns his head back around with a polite smile, hoping he spoke too soon about their interaction ending prematurely. He watches Jon stretch himself up from the mat and take careful steps over his equipment before meeting him in the sand. 

“I’m sorry to bother, but could you help me with something for a moment? For scientific research, I should preface.” Jon asks, adjusting his glasses. Martin’s eyes flick between Jon and the café front. 

“Um, sure? If it’s quick. I am on shift and I need to, y’know, get back to the café at some point or another —”

“It’ll be quick. Easy too. I promise.” Jon leans his hands out, encouraging Martin not to leave. “I just, uh —” He looks over his mat and begins gathering a bunch of equipment in his arms. When he picks up another piece, only to find he has no more room in his arms, he turns to Martin. “If you could hold this please.” 

“Um, okay?” Martin sputters but instinctively holds out his hands. Jon places a pH probe in them then rummages through some other instruments, adding a few more into Martin’s arms before the latter can protest. After taking one last look at the mat and going through a mental checklist, Jon nods and sets off towards a cluster of rocks on the shoreline ahead. 

“Right, this way then.”   
  


* * *

  
For someone shorter than him, Jon walked  _ very  _ fast. Martin staggers a few steps behind, feeling rather dumbfounded at how easily he got roped into a favor. With the equipment piled high in his hands too, it’s apparent that it won’t be quick like Jon had insisted, but it was a bit late for Martin to refuse. He glances back at the café, certain that Tim and Sasha are still glued to the window and gossiping about them. He sighs. The situation might be cumbersome, but it could prove useful to finally get to know who exactly Jon is. 

“I-I’m sorry, you might’ve said earlier and I forgot already, but what exactly is your—?” Martin’s cut off by Jon turning around abruptly with a stiff hand outstretched. 

“Sorry, forgive my manners. Jonathan Sims. Jon, if you would.” 

“Oh! Martin Blackwood,” He laughs, in part from nervous habit and in part from the surprise of having indeed overheard his name correctly amidst the storming ocean. They manage a brief, awkward handshake while balancing their respective equipment. “Nice to finally know your name. You were quite the mystery man for a while there.”

“Sorry. I’ve often been told I get ahead of myself.”

“That’s alright, I’m sure you’re a busy person being a researcher and all. Um, speaking of, what exactly do you need my help with?” 

“Well, there’s a rock up ahead that I need lifted so I can run some tests on the water. Looked as if there might be a deposit of some substance underneath, so I wanted to investigate further. Obviously, I didn’t want to disturb the area and just throw it carelessly out of the way so, I just need someone to lift it and you, erm, looked like a — seemed, ah, strong enough for it, so...” Jon shrinks into himself before he can finish the thought and trudges along without another word. He didn’t want to be presumptuous, at the ever present risk of being wrong, but he did need a little assistance if he wanted the study to be thorough. And he won't say it out loud but trying to pick up the rock by himself hadn’t exactly been...successful. 

“Well, astute observation because your, uh, hypothesis was correct.” Martin laughs then immediately cringes, hearing Jon make a quiet groan in tandem. 

“Christ, everyone’s a comedian.” Jon mumbles under his breath, having heard the same jargon butchered a million times over whenever someone found out he’s a scientist. Martin nervously adjusts his grip on the equipment. It had honestly come out due to nerves more than anything, but he swears off making any more science related jokes for the extra precaution. 

“S-so, doing research on water then?” 

“Yes, I’m a hydrologist.” 

“Hm?” Martin makes a puzzled noise. Jon sighs wearily, as if he’s had to elaborate on the question far too many times — and he has. 

“Hydrologist. I study water. My team is currently investigating the Atlantic.”

“Oh! Okay,” Martin walks on in silence, mulling over the information as he takes a few cursory glances around the beach. "So...do you...have a team here?" He asks, confused. Jon huffs at the question, wondering why people seemed to be so obsessed with that tidbit of knowledge. Martin seemed like a kind and genuinely helpful person, but Jon knows better than to judge someone’s true character off of a five minute conversation. All he can hope is that Martin’s cheeriness doesn’t come with a penchant for involuntary manslaughter like someone else. 

"The rest of my team are at other sites along the Atlantic. I'm only here because I know the area well, among other factors." He practically spits out the answer, tone purposefully terse. Martin is a bit off put by the sudden change in demeanor, but tries to move past it. 

"Oh, huh! That’s nice. Do you...live here then? I don't think I've seen you —"

" _ Lived _ here. 18 years.” Jon chooses his words carefully, leaving the details unspecified. Before Martin can follow up with another question, Jon speeds forward to the rock formation then squats down, beginning to lay out his equipment. 

“Take care with your step. Don’t want anything to break.” He notes and Martin makes a hum of understanding, kneeling down nearby. Jon mutters to himself as he takes each item from Martin’s arms, positioning them near the others. He gives them a once over before crawling over to the center of the formation, pointing to the rock in the middle. “Okay, this one. There’s an edge about here that you can grab.” 

Martin steps over, eyeing the rock, then frowns, suddenly feeling a bit flushed. It’s certainly much larger than he expected, especially under the pretense of a “quick and easy” favor coming from someone who just met him. 

“Uh, okay…” He draws out an exhale, trying to view the rock at a few more angles to gauge the best approach for his grip. “How long do you need me to hold it? If it’s anything more than a few minutes, you might want to try someone else.” 

“No more than a couple minutes.” Jon waves a hand flippantly, rifling through his equipment. “You don’t even have to lift it far, just enough for me to get these in. They take readings fairly quickly.” 

Jon’s confidence, though likely overstated, is enough for Martin to at least try. He takes a deep breath and squats down, curling his fingers over the long edge of the rock. With a stifled grunt, he heaves up the rock to standing then watches as Jon immediately shoves his head down towards the murky water, pushing his glasses back from falling just in time. 

“Oh.” Jon states bluntly into the air. To be honest, he’s mildly disappointed that there isn’t a deposit like he suspected. It would have at least made his report a bit more exciting. With another tut, he grabs a small rectangular device from his jacket pocket and starts dictating fast, complicated observations into it.   
  


* * *

  
The whole experiment is taking far longer than a couple minutes. On his own internal clock, Martin is counting past seven at this point. He thought it might at least be interesting to watch hydrology research in action, something he didn’t even know existed until today, but it was severely lacking in just that — action . All Jon seemed to do was stick something into the water, mutter to himself, write something down, then repeat. Maybe if he wasn’t so focused on keeping the rock steady, knuckles having blanched past what was comfortable, he would be more amenable to fascination with the work. Though a fair amount of the irritation wriggling its way into Martin’s attitude was due to watching Jon just sit around at certain points, deciding what he should prioritize next and appearing unconcerned with working at his own pace while Martin’s hands were going numb. But Martin isn’t about to let a boulder drop onto a well-meaning hydrologist, even if he was rather brash. Plus, it would be kind of counterproductive given he had saved Jon from certain doom literally a day ago. Just when Martin considers gently requesting a little urgency, Jon finally lifts the last plastic cylinder from the water and leans back onto his heels, capping the bottle. 

“Okay, you can put it back now.” 

Martin eagerly but slowly lowers the rock, dropping it back into place with a grunt then shakes out the stiffness from his hands. 

“Hoo — right. That stings. Uh, anything else you need?” He curses internally at his last statement. It came out on instinct but he’d much rather be getting back to his  _ actual  _ job, hoping the café isn’t suffering without him. Fortunately, Jon seems to pay him little mind and barely musters up a farewell while writing in his notebook. 

“No, that’s all. Thanks for the help.” 

“Yeah, no problem...” Martin rolls his eyes at the curt thanks, knowing Jon won’t bother to look, then turns to head back down the beach.   
  


* * *

  
As Martin steps up the café stairs, Tim and Sasha’s eyes are still glued to the window. Both give him a large smile when he shoots over a glare before coming through the door. Tim is the first to approach him, leaning a hand on the wall framing the door. 

“So? Who’s our man?” He grins excitedly. Martin brushes past him to walk behind the counter, tying on his apron again. He starts the electric kettle, in need of a cuppa himself after everything that already happened this morning. 

“Nothing to get in a tizzy about. His name is Jon. He’s some...hydrologist?” 

“Hydrologist, huh. Nerd alert.” Tim nudges Sasha with his elbow.

“Well, I thought it was obvious he was a nerd. You saw what he was wearing.” Sasha teases and Tim obliges with a chuckle. 

“Guys, he’s a scientist. They’re not exactly the coolest people in the universe.” Martin reprimands. He won’t admit it out loud, to his coworkers especially, but he did have a passing thought while walking back about the odd, bumbling charm Jon managed to have despite being a rather impudent person.

“Yeah, but tweed? How old is this guy?" Sasha grimaces. “I mean, I’m not one to talk, but…” 

“Maybe he’s just old fashioned?” Martin shrugs, thinking how the grey in Jon’s hair didn’t quite match his younger looking face, nor did his outfit. 

“Sash, you’re just upset you’ve got competition for the uncoolest person in the world.” Tim chimes in. 

“Tim, you are my stiffest competition by  _ far _ , you nerd.” 

“Hey! You can’t nerd me, you _nerd_.” 

“Ugh. Incorrigible. Ignore him, Martin.” Sasha raises a hand to block Tim’s face, walking behind the counter to join Martin. 

“I try my best.” Martin shoots a sarcastically pointed look over the rim of his mug as he blows across it. Tim chuckles at both of them, pretending to slump defeated into a chair across the counter. 

“Anyway, Martin, where’d you guys go off to? We didn’t see you for a bit.” Sasha asks innocently, but Martin can hear the probing interest behind it. 

“He just asked if I could hold up this huge boulder so he could take water samples under it. My fingers still hurt a bit actually.” 

“Oh?” Tim cocks an eyebrow with a wry smile. Martin tries to hide the flush creeping on his face. 

“Tim, that's not a euphemism for anything. That is the truth. I  _ swear _ .” He asserts and Tim only responds with a quiet but mischievous snicker. Sasha leans her hands on the counter, continuing her inquiry. 

“So, what’s he like then?” 

“Oh yeah, did you ask my pollution questions?” Tim tacks on. 

“No, I did  _ not _ .” Martin gripes while taking a cursory sip from his tea then runs a hand through his hair. “Um…? Let’s see...how to...describe him...hm.” He frowns. Sasha immediately picks up on the shift in his tone. 

“Oh my god, is he a prick or something?” 

“No! No. I never said that. I barely even said a word to begin with!”

“To be fair, you sound exactly like someone trying to defend a prick.” Tim teases and Martin flails his hands in frustration. 

“Can I speak? Please?” Martin asks tersely and both his coworkers shut their lips tight like scolded children. Martin nods and continues. “ _ Okay _ . I was just looking for the right — the right words.” His voice wavers as he racks through his brain for the best adjectives. “He’s...uh...he’s a little bit arrogant. But, I mean, he sounded really smart, er, at least how he talked, so it might be a professional thing? You know, heh, uptight, assertive, and all that. But really, I think he’s just — just kind of awkward, like you’d expect a researcher to be.” 

“Nerdy prick alert...” Tim whispers through cupped hands, justifying a tiny slap on the arm from Martin. 

“I only got him to talk for like five minutes, okay? Not everyone can be as _effortlessly_ _charming_ as you.” Martin rolls his eyes, taking another sip of tea. 

“Okay, so we’ve got an inkling of a personality, more to be discovered. Did you find out at least what he’s actually doing here?” Tim asks, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. 

“Besides that it’s hydrology, no clue. Didn’t even get there.” Martin shakes his head then shrugs. “I guess the only other thing I managed to get was that he might’ve grown up here? He got so shifty all of a sudden when I asked and said he ‘lived here for 18 years’ so I’m assuming that’s what he meant?” 

“Oh! Huh. Did you happen to catch his last name? I wonder if he’s related to anyone we know.” 

“Oh yeah. Sims?”

Everyone mulls the name over for a silent second then gasps collectively. Martin grips his mug tighter, in disbelief that he didn’t make the connection sooner. 

“Wait, oh my god. Do you think —?” 

“Has to be. Has  _ got  _ to be.” Tim asserts, folding his hands and preparing for further deliberation. Sasha nods rigorously. 

“I think you’re right. Mrs. Sims mentioned her grandson was coming to visit. You don’t think it’s just a coincidence, do you?” 

Martin thinks back on the several instances in which he’s spoken with Mrs. Sims over the years and compares it to his short time meeting Jon. 

“Oh, no, yeah. Yeah, it’s definitely him.” Martin answers bluntly, leaving Tim and Sasha murmuring excitedly between each other. Tim side eyes the window with a cheeky smile. 

“Even kind of dresses like a grandma, doesn’t he?” 

That earns a round of giggles from the group. It dies down as the bell over the front door rings and a couple customers stroll in. Martin waves a dismissive hand at the others, heading to the register. 

“Alright, you two. Leave the poor researcher and his grandma jumpers alone.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, their first meeting as people but at the cost of a little meet ugly LOL
> 
> Leo: if you cringed at Martin's joke, that's the point  
> Bri: that situation has happened to me so many times during my biology undergrad studies, it's ridiculous fdjsklfjs, also i very much enjoyed writing kind of eccentric scientist jon because that has also been my experience during undergrad lol


	4. Remembering Old, Collecting New Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for light discussions of family problems/relationships, mention of parental abandonment on Martin's part, mentions of personal insecurities

The next day proceeds as usual, the afternoon rush of customers dwindling down to the occasional patron every few minutes or so. Martin is cleaning up some stray glasses when the bell above the door jingles. He turns with a cheerful smile, perking up when he sees Mrs. Sims walking through the opened door. Just as he’s wondering if their theory from yesterday was correct, Jon comes around from holding the door, politely shutting it behind him as he steps inside. Martin sets down a half clean glass and approaches the register, trying to keep up his cheery smile. If Jon remembers him from yesterday he doesn’t show it, but Martin holds out hope that a re-introduction won’t be necessary. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle the awkwardness if not. 

“Afternoon, Mrs. Sims! What can I get you?” 

“Earl grey, please and thank you, Martin.” She nods appreciatively and Martin taps her order into the register. He looks up, anticipating the worst as he goes to address Jon, but Mrs. Sims speaks up before him. “By the way, have you met my grandson Jonathan yet?” 

“O-oh, yeah, we—”

“Nan, I told you we met yesterday.” Jon interjects, glancing at his grandmother with a confused look. He had literally discussed it last evening after coming back to the house with dinner. But after mentioning Martin’s assistance and the very, very good café tea, his grandmother puffed up and chastised him about showing gratitude. Unbeknownst to Jon, directly saying ‘thank you’ apparently does _not_ count as appropriate gratitude for simple tasks or offerings anymore. So now here they are, his grandmother having practically dragged him in by the ear. 

Jon turns to Martin with a small nod of recognition. “And Jon, please. Like I said.”

Martin breathes a private sigh of relief, having been spared the ever too familiar embarrassment that comes with being forgotten. He nods back with a small laugh. 

“Ah, yeah, I remember. Um, is there anything you’d like?” 

“Um…” Jon glances at the menu, scanning the words but barely processing them. It was more of a routine gesture rather than actual consideration, so as to not let on that he’d already made a decision beforehand. “Could you possibly make what you brought me yesterday? Black tea, iced, with…?”

“Ginger and a spoonful of honey.” Martin answers, a genuine smile making its way onto his face. He elects to ignore that Jon thought it was iced tea, no doubt Jon accidentally let it cool that far while being preoccupied with his research; instead he’s pleasantly surprised that his guess about Jon’s taste was correct. 

“Yes, that. If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“No trouble at all.” Martin hums, punching in the order. “Actually like it myself whenever I’m pulling long shifts. Got a bit of a kick to it, wakes you up.” 

“Yeah, it’s nice. Which, thank you for doing that by the way.” Jon smiles awkwardly, appreciative but self aware now of how he may have come off yesterday. “It wasn’t needed, but —” Just behind the edge of the register, there’s a subtle movement from Mrs. Sims that’s enough to make Jon quit his sentence prematurely. “It was lovely, thank you again.” He revises quickly. Mrs. Sims gives a slight nod with a satisfied smile then shuffles over to the few seats lining the counter. 

“Well, I’m glad you liked it. Summer day and all that, figured you could use it.” Martin remarks with a smile, taking the paper notes that Jon holds out. 

“Yes, and your help with my research yesterday was very much appreciated.” Jon throws out, even without his grandmother listening anymore, just to prove that he’s perfectly fine at showing gratitude, thank you very much. 

“Oh, well, Thanks,” Martin smiles a bit bashfully from the praise. “It was no problem, really.” He hands Jon a receipt with change stacked neatly on top, not letting on the fact that he was actually slightly inconvenienced yesterday. 

“Still, I’d rather be overly appreciative than not.” Jon justifies, shoving the notes into his pocket. 

“I understand.” Martin chuckles, giving a small wave as he turns to the back counter. “I’ll get those drinks to you two in a sec.” 

“Right.” Jon gives another nod before joining his grandmother, the latter already invested in a half finished crossword booklet. 

Martin hides an entertained smile while preparing the tea. Jon had to be about, what, in his thirties at the oldest and late twenties at the youngest? The grey in his hair made it difficult to ascertain his exact age, but Martin still couldn’t help but be amused by the sheepish look Jon held on his face. It was reminiscent of a scolded primary schooler being forced to apologize for something under the discretion of an overbearing parent. Martin decides to spare Jon any further grief about it, having already gotten the brunt from his grandmother, and recognizes this is a perfect opportunity to actually talk with him. 

“So Jon, how have you been finding Bournemouth now that you’re back?” 

“Well…” Jon begins with a long, weary sigh. He was kind of hoping the transaction would be the end of conversation because he didn’t need anymore unsolicited critiques about his active social skills. “Nothing’s really changed much since last time. It’s, um...odd to be living with family again but better than being cooped up in an overpriced hotel room for two months.” 

“I’ll bet. Nice to have him home then, Mrs. Sims?” Martin glances behind him while flicking out a tea infuser. 

“It’s always good to see him. Not as often as I’d like but you’re always so busy in London.” She nods with a fond smile in Jon’s direction and he flashes a small smile back. Now that Jon had grown up, they held a quiet respect for the other, much like two old friends would. 

“You’re one to talk. You’ve been busy as ever since you retired.” Jon remarks with an arched brow to which his grandmother waves a protesting hand. 

“Anything fun, Mrs. Sims?” Martin asks, getting a couple mugs from a rack. 

“Crosswords mostly.” She states dryly, lifting the booklet in her hands slightly. Jon shakes his head, staring at Martin while he mouths 'Ibiza' behind a well placed hand. Martin mouths back ‘what’ with an impressed yet extremely jealous expression. Before Jon can respond, Mrs. Sims clears her throat loudly, having caught the entire exchange. 

“Speaking of…” She leans towards Jon, pointing at a column in the booklet with her pencil. “You might know this one. Four letter word, capital on a fjord?” 

Jon peeks over his shoulder at the crossword, mulling it over for a couple seconds before definitively stating, “Oslo.”

“Thank you, dear.” She pats his arm in appreciation then sits back, penciling in the letters. 

“Okay, here we are. Earl grey and black with ginger and honey,” Martin shuffles around to the opposite side of the counter, setting down their respective drinks. 

“Thank you,” Jon and his grandmother both state politely with a small nod, almost in unison which Martin finds oddly charming considering the family resemblance. 

“I’ve got some dishes to catch up on but if either of you need anything else, just let me know.”

“Yes, thank you.” Jon nods again, curling one hand around the warm mug. 

“Good to have you back in town. Hope it’s a nice visit.” Martin smiles cheerfully again before walking behind the counter and to the small sink in the middle. 

“Um, sure,” Jon passively agrees, having reservations about the sentiment. 

It wasn’t that he hated visiting his grandmother, no, it was all about the longevity of the stay. Which is why he enjoys visiting but much prefers to live alone. Following his own rules is far easier than constantly trying to understand someone else's. Things seem to change at random for him, regardless of if he tries to keep up with people’s subtleties or not. Even in adulthood, he struggles to understand exactly what his grandmother wants and vice versa. There’s always been an invisible barrier of communication between them that they still try to overcome but haven't always met each other halfway on. He knows he’ll be upset about something but finds it difficult to articulate his feelings despite being well spoken; not understanding why his grandmother needs justification over clarification, finding ‘I don’t know, I just don’t like it’ an unacceptable excuse.   
  


_Hrm._

  
Jon realizes he’s been tapping his fingers nervously underneath the counter, reliving some unpleasant moments from childhood. He moves to drum his fingers on the counter, searching for something else to occupy his mind and bury the feelings of inadequacy. He remembers his bag and pulls out his lab notebook, creasing it flat across the counter. 

Silence has since returned, only filled by the ambient sounds of the café and the scribbling of a pen. Mrs. Sims’ eyes slowly trace along the counter, glancing in between the both of them. Jon feels a stealthy hand touch his arm. 

“Yes? I was going to do some work.” He whispers. 

“Ask him a question. It’s only polite.” She whispers back, not breaking from her crossword. Jon huffs, testy. Staying with his grandmother was ultimately saving money but at the cost of his dignity to be disciplined like an unruly child once again. 

“Um, Martin?” Jon pipes up, worried he might be distracting Martin from work with more conversation. 

“Yeah? Something you need?” Martin automatically steps away from the sink, ready to accommodate and Jon rushes to clarify. 

“Ah, no. It’s nothing. I just, er, was wondering how long you've been in Bournemouth yourself?” 

“Oh,” Martin says, surprised that Jon asked after seeming to brush him off so quickly yesterday. He places his hands into the sinks again, washing out a coffee mug. “Not long actually! Just a couple years.”

“Ah, I see.” Jon blows on his tea before taking a long sip, raking through his brain for a followup question. He pushes past thoughts of work and how much he’d love to be finishing some but he knows going back to it will only earn another prod from his seat neighbor. “Where’s home for you then?” 

“A bit up north past Liverpool. At least, that’s the place I remember the most while growing up. Moved around a lot as a kid, so I never really stayed in one place to really call home.” 

“What made you decide on Bournemouth then?” Jon asks with a wry chuckle, like it was a poor decision on Martin’s part given his own upbringing in the area. 

“Pft — was living in Grimsby, needed a scenery change. I’d actually passed through here a few times when I was younger and it always seemed like a nice place to settle down in. At least for a while. And I like the ocean, so here I am.” He shrugs with a laugh, setting a plate onto the drying rack. Though his answers were part of a well rehearsed pretense, most of them were just slightly twisted versions of his true experiences. For a time he did grow up near Liverpool, but he’s lived in so many places since then, not all of them on land. A large portion of his homes were that of strangers whom his mother was seeing, but those never lasted long, much to his relief and his mother’s annoyance. Once he was able to take care of himself on both land and sea, his mother left and he’s been independent ever since; which has been immensely gratifying despite all the difficulties. At least for him, there are certain fallbacks if he’s in a pinch for money — there’s a ton of free food in the ocean and it doesn’t exactly require monthly rent cheques. 

“From one coast to the next for you?” Jon asks rhetorically. 

Martin genuinely laughs, his pattern figured out so easily. “Yep, you’ve got it.” 

Jon smiles, impressed with himself for having carried on the conversation, and with another laugh from Martin to boot. He isn’t sure why, but the sound of it was very pleasant, like hearing an old melody play. He sips politely on his tea, searching for what to say next now that the preceding topic has passed. Luckily he doesn’t have to search far, as Martin turns to stack another dish, the movement catches some sunlight on his necklace. Jon blinks his eyes reflexively as the light reflects into them, and the glinting jewel at the center immediately piques his interest. 

Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Martin glances up to see Jon squinting, leaning forward like he’s studying him. Martin grips his sponge a little tighter, worried that Jon may be recognizing him as the same person who pulled him out from the storming sea. 

“Um, something you need Jon?” 

“Hm?” Jon’s eyes snap up and he immediately flushes upon meeting Martin’s confused smile, realizing he was staring. “A-ah, sorry. I saw your necklace. It looks like sea glass?” He clears his throat, trying to relieve his nervous stutter. 

“Oh,” Martin makes a noise of quiet surprise, hand touching his necklace. Most mistook it for a gem, so he was honestly a bit impressed Jon recognized it. “Yeah, it is. Good eye.” 

“Thanks,” Jon doesn’t quite smile, but turns his eyes down briefly, which was basically the same thing for him. “Did you find it yourself or buy it from a shop?”

“Actually found it here when I was visiting. Long time ago, I was still a kid. I thought it might be nice to make some jewelry out of it.” Martin smiles to himself, running a finger along the smooth glass. “Kind of a good luck charm for me.” 

“Yes, that’s cornflower blue sea glass by the looks of it. Very rare to find naturally formed.” Jon recites the fact then sheepishly crosses his arms, not meaning to have revealed he knows way too much about the topic. “So, um, yes, one could consider it good luck.” 

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” Martin chuckles, going back to scrubbing a tough spot on a plate. “Probably why I’ve kept it for so long. Sentimentality and all that.” 

“A familiar feeling.” Jon agrees, taking another sip of tea. 

“Why’s that? You have a collection yourself?” 

“I just — well, I wouldn’t call it a collection. But if you spend as much time near the ocean as I do, you’re bound to pick up a few pieces over the years.”

“I can imagine. What kind do you have?” 

“Hm, seafoam, amber...found a lavender one on North Beach actually, that one’s fairly rare. Tried finding uranium glass there with one of our UV lights too, but no such luck.” Jon laughs quietly, recalling how he ended up piquing the team’s interest, roping them all into a search for their own piece. “What about you?” 

“I’ve got a few. Been around a lot of beaches moving around so much, so nice past time walking the shore. Think I’ve got, let’s see…” Martin tries to remember all the types he has nestled into the jar sitting on his bedside dresser. “Seafoam too, same as you. I like the milk ones a lot. They’re such a lovely color, so I have a few of those, couple shades of green. But this one is kind of my pride and joy.” Martin gestures to his necklace, smiling again. 

“Yeah…” Jon stares off, holding his tea in both hands. He appears lost in thought for a few moments before turning to his grandmother with a furrowed brow. “I think — didn’t I find cornflower blue sea glass once or am I not remembering right?” 

“Yes, you did but you seemed to lose it. Or it never was.” She shrugs, writing in another crossword answer. 

“Mm,” Jon isn’t slighted by the comment, too invested in his memory now. “It’s possible. I was actually thinking about it the other day.”

“Funnily enough, I was too.” She hums. 

“It _was_ kind of strange.” Jon remarks and Mrs. Sims makes a noise of assent. He frowns, turning back with a hand tucked under his chin, contemplating the memory. He catches a glimpse of Martin’s expectant face then waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, but, don’t let us distract you with the story. It’s rather convoluted.”

“I don’t mind! Just washing dishes. Besides, I think I’m too curious now to let you stop, especially if the story’s interesting.” Martin encourages with a smile. It was a slow day anyways and listening in would be a welcome distraction. Plus, Jon’s eyes seemed to light up at the request, so he wasn’t about to stop him. 

“Alright, um…” Jon trails off, beginning to piece together his recollections of the experience. “Well, as a kid I would read a lot about the ocean, so naturally I’d go down to the beach to study what I had read. Guess it’s not too different from what I do now…”

Recollection creeps into Martin’s own mind as Jon briefly describes his outings as a child. Even the glint in his eyes when Martin had asked him to continue talking was an expression that nudged familiarity, making him think back to his own distant memories of Bournemouth.   
  


_He couldn’t possibly be…_

_No, that’s silly. That random boy is probably long gone by now._ _  
  
_

“Anyways, you were caught up talking with someone so I went down to the beach.” Jon gestures at his grandmother briefly before continuing. “I remember joining another kid wandering the beach and coming across a type of glass like yours. Then I gave it away to them. Or at least I think I did. I don’t remember too well or trust the memory, really. Not that I have issues with memory. It was just so many years ago and there’s — well, we have conflicting perspectives.” 

“Ah, w-what do you mean?” Martin asks, voice wavering a bit from the sudden realization that he very well may have been the other child in question. Mrs. Sims answers before Jon can continue. 

“You had pulled me over to show me, but there wasn’t another boy nor any sea glass when I got there despite the insistence. You still had quite the imagination at that age.” She chuckles fondly at the memory now, remembering a time when Jon only came up to her shoulder. Juxtaposed is Jon scrunched up with frustration, trying to make sense of their contradicting viewpoints.

“That’s why it’s strange though. I swear it wasn’t my imagination.” Jon gestures squarely with his hands as he defends the seemingly misplaced nostalgia. “It really felt like there was someone else on the beach with me. Why else would I remember these little details like — like he had a speckled blanket, he asked me specifically about sea urchins, sand dollars —” 

The sudden clatter of metal dropping into the ceramic sink startles Jon out of his discussion, both him and his grandmother staring up at Martin who stands quietly with wide eyes, his hands still outstretched but empty. 

“Are — are you okay?” Jon asks, looking equally as wide eyed while clutching his fingers around his tea. 

“Y-yes!” Martin squeaks out, scrambling to pick the mixing bowl back up. “S-slippery hands is all! You know how it is with washing dishes.” He forces a laugh, trying to play it cool while his mind races.   
  


_Oh god, it really is him._ _  
  
_

There’s no doubt in his mind. Every detail of Jon’s story matches up with his own memory. When asked again if he was alright, Martin spares a glance back at Jon to flash a reassuring smile, pretending like he’s not gathering every detail of his face. Martin chides himself for not realizing earlier. Minus the grey in his hair and obvious signs of aging, Jon really hasn’t changed much.  
  


 _Except he got handsome.  
_ _  
_ _  
_ Martin suppresses a groan at his mind’s supplementary thought. Fine, he’ll admit it. He had some fleeting fantasies of meeting the boy who gave him the sea glass cradled preciously in his necklace once again later in life. The first person to actually make him feel a little less lonely in the world. As he grew up, the yearning faded, and he chalked it up to the whimsy of adolescence, only throwing a spare thought to the idea once in a while; more recalling that he had ever felt such a way rather than actively feeling it. But this was ridiculously unfair, a daydream sneaking up and slapping full force into reality without any warning. Now was _not_ the time to unearth the childish crush he thought died years ago. Especially when said crush grew up to be kind of a prick. A handsome one, but still. 

He sighs, pretending he needs to check some items in the back room just so he could hide for a few minutes and calm his racing heart.   
  


This was going to be a long shift.   
  


* * *

  
Their tea finished, Jon and his grandmother wave goodbye as they walk out the front door. Martin weakly waves back, counting down every second between him and curling under the covers for a much needed 'just had an epiphany' nap. 

Stepping along the promenade back to the metered parking spots, Jon offers an elbow to his grandmother who slips her arm around, letting her cane hang loosely on her wrist. 

“There, I was nice to your standards. Are you happy now?” Jon gripes.

“Overflowing with joy.” She smiles smugly. "You two seem to get along well."

Jon exhales deeply, "Let's hope so."  
  


* * *

  
Last night, Martin had done a lot of thinking, worrying, and, to his embarrassment, smiling. He barely got any sleep overnight, writhing from the butterflies in his stomach. When he trudged over to the café this morning, absolutely exhausted, he could only make one coherent conclusion from his endless thoughts: he really hopes that Jon will be too wrapped up in his research to ever really interact again. Then he can ignore the small infatuation he carried over from childhood much more easily, keep it from growing any further. 

Then Jon knocked onto the café door fifteen minutes later. Before they were even _open._

Tim had stared at the door window with a wary but very interested look while Martin hurried over to find out why the hell Jon was here at 6:30 in the morning. Apparently after the single instance of lifting the rock, Jon had fixated on the fact that Martin was helpful and came over to ask for his assistance again. It had caught Martin so off guard that he reflexively agreed, then shot back an apologetic look to Tim who insisted he could handle opening by himself. Martin found himself alone again with Jon, arms laden with equipment; the exact scenario that could give his dreamy thoughts from last night a sample of reality. 

“Thanks again for the help. Like I said, I’m without a team for this research trip so it’s a bit difficult to operate sometimes. So, I appreciate any help, really.” Jon leads them up onto a few rocks extending beyond the surf, laying a couple small bags down. 

“Yeah, no problem. This all seems like a lot to handle all by yourself.” Martin kneels down, laying out the equipment from his own arms. “You caught me at a good time though. Café isn't too busy in the early, early morning. People are usually still sleeping or halfway to work rather than coming all the way down to the beachfront for a cuppa."

“Well, I usually work when no one's at the beach either. Lots of free space." Jon remarks, having been up for a couple hours already. He notices Martin stifle a huge yawn while leaning back on his heels and worries he's already overworked at the café. "And you don't have to worry, this isn't going to be an everyday thing. I'll only bother if I really need the help and you happen to be free. I wouldn't pull you away during lunch rush hour or something. It’s not like this is your job.” Jon states firmly, maybe a bit unintentionally stern, but that was more directed at himself than anything. He tacks on another hasty option, feeling overbearing. "Or I can ask someone else entirely. Your decision."

"I can do it," Martin affirms quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly since Jon looked so surprised, having barely finished his sentence. Martin surprised himself even, flushing at the sudden awareness that his emotions from last night had spoken so hastily over his sensible judgement. "Um, sorry, I didn't mean to seem like I was complaining or something. I'm fine helping with little things like this, really. As long as you don't expect me to like, know what the science is behind it. Or get me fired. Emphasis on the latter."

“Oh, alright. I promise I won't." Jon states quietly, still surprised how exactly he negotiated his way into an enthusiastic agreement. "Well, let me know then how I can compensate you. Buying tea is only so much.” 

"Café patronage is fine. I don't really like taking money for things like this. If that's okay?" 

"Tea it is then." Jon hums with a nod and the two share a pleasant smile before continuing to set up.   
  


* * *

  
They are not but five minutes into the experiment before the bickering starts. 

Jon had learned the pattern of the tide quickly enough where he could nonchalantly turn every time a wave struck against the rocks before returning to his previous task. Though he remained unfazed by this routine, Martin started to fret. He was only supposed to be handing over tools and writing in data to Jon’s notebook whenever prompted, but he had also taken it upon himself to hover over Jon, making sure he didn’t end up falling.

Jon grimaces at another sudden yelp of caution breaking his concentration. It was bad enough with the ocean spraying water onto his face every two seconds, he didn’t need a self appointed lifeguard pestering him too. 

“Jon, seriously, be careful. The tide can be really—” 

“It’s. Fine.” Jon asserts, holding out a hand a bit exasperatedly. “Trust me, I know how dangerous water can get. But I’ve got everything under control.” 

Martin stays quiet, stifling a low, discontent grumble. Satisfied enough, Jon turns back, moving his hand out to gather another sample. Then he freezes in place, realizing his hand is suddenly empty. His eyes go wide, whipping around in every direction in search of any glint of light that might be metal but the refractometer is nowhere to be seen. He can’t suppress a loud groan of distress that Martin overhears. 

“D’you lose it?” Martin sighs, walking over behind him. 

“No, I didn’t _lose_ it.” Jon snaps, twisting around. “It probably got swallowed up while I was distracted.” He huffs in frustration, muttering under his breath. “Christ, of course it had to be the refractometer…” 

“You aren’t able to just buy a new one?” Martin offers, trying to peer over the shore himself, not finding anything. 

“Yeah, 250 quid if you want a good one.” Jon states crossly before his brows upturn in worry. “I’m not going to waste company money for being careless.” He brings an antsy hand to his chin as he scans the water, trying to rack through his brain for the best, and more importantly quickest, way to find it before it drifts off to be lost forever. 

A solution has already come to mind for Martin but he needs an excuse to step away. 

“Look, just stay here for a moment alright? I’ll go run up and see if someone can help.” 

Jon only nods quickly to signal he had heard, then gets lost in his thoughts again, starting to pull the rest of his equipment away from the increasing tide. Martin swipes up his bag as he leaves, jogging away until he’s put enough distance between them. After a cursory glance around the beach, he tucks away his backpack, making sure to pull out his pelt. He throws it on then splashes into the waters. 

He speeds back towards the previous location, using his enhanced eyesight to scan the murky ocean floor for the refractometer. Soon his eyes fall on the very item, fluttering around with the strong tide, but not before he sees a familiar pair of legs and arms nearby, combing through the sand.   
  


_He never listens, does he…  
  
_

When Jon sees the waves moving apart as something approaches, he whips his hands out of the water, taking a couple steps back. A seal pops its head above the water, holding the refractometer in its mouth. 

“Hey! No, no, don’t eat that!!” Jon shouts, waving his hands wildly but not coming closer. The last thing he needs is to get bitten.

Martin wishes he had the ability to roll his eyes in this form, settling for a loud huff from his nose. He ignores Jon’s frantic stammering to swim closer and nudge the item against his hand. 

“O-oh?” Jon slows his movements, fingers curling around the rod. He brings it up for inspection, not seeing any sort of damage besides the tiny indent of a tooth mark. 

“Huh. Well, thank you.” Jon smiles as he bends down to the seal’s level, resting his hands on his thighs. “You don’t know how much you just helped me.” 

The seal responds to the praise by rubbing its snout against Jon’s leg and he jumps a bit from the touch, moving away slightly. 

“Ah, another cuddly seal…” He says through a nervous smile, tracking the animal as it swims behind him. It peeks out the other side then gazes up at him sweetly with big eyes and Jon feels his frown quiver at the display. He hums, eyes crinkling from a gentle smile. 

“Oh, if you aren’t just a precious thing.” He cooes, holding out the back of his hand like one would for a cat. Usually he wouldn’t touch any wild seals as he read about the effects it has on nursing pups and their mothers, despite how cute they are. But he could make an expectation for a full grown adult who happens to be just as cute. The seal seems happy to indulge though and presses into the waiting hand. Martin feels Jon stiffen up before slowly petting along his head. After a few experimental touches, Jon takes his hand away to see if the seal will leave or not. To his excitement, the seal butts its head against his hand again, demanding more attention. Jon provides more head rubs before curving a hand around the side, scratching along the seal's upper neck.

Martin had been pet before by Tim and Sasha ( _very_ briefly) but for some reason that spot on his neck felt particularly soothing. He closes his eyes and lets his head hang a little more limply, bouncing around a bit from Jon's hand movements. 

"Hm? Do you like little scritches?" Jon giggles with delight at the seal's happy response and it throws Martin for a loop. 

Because Jon just _giggled._

And it's one of the cutest noises he's ever heard him make.

"Well, I'm happy to give them to you. So long as you don't give me any back, alright?" Jon pretends to negotiate and Martin unconsciously nods in understanding. Jon makes an intrigued noise at the behavior, strangely familiar to his first up close and personal seal encounter. Maybe seals were just way smarter than he gave them credit for? Or this one was a released rescue that still remembers some human gestures. Whatever it is, it's not going to stop Jon from showering it in affection as long as it lets him. 

Martin lets his head loll around as Jon gently scratches under his chin with both hands, smushing both of his cheeks. Sure, this is all a little demeaning, being baby talked as an animal, but if stuffy researcher Jon is going to be this adorable, he could let it slide this time.   
  


Martin’s not sure how much time has passed, in a deep state of relaxation from all the pampering. It’s only when Jon’s tone shifts from fond to questioning that he finally flutters open his eyes. 

“Wonder what’s taking Martin so long…” Jon asks quietly to himself, glancing towards the shore. “Should probably tell him I got it back.” 

Martin's eyes go wide. He had completely forgotten the dual roles he was playing. He slips out of Jon's hands and back into the water. As he swims away, he hears a soft, disappointed "Oh, bye..."  
  


Martin had run back to the rocks, out of breath to keep up the pretense that he had been racing around for assistance but to no avail. He expected Jon to get angry, scold him for being useless, but he just wiggled the refractometer in his hand and said he ended up finding it. Still keeping up appearances, Martin asked how he got it back and Jon lied, saying it happened to wash up on shore — nothing to suggest he went into the water against Martin's advice. It took everything for Martin not to smugly call him out on it, Jon's wading pants and boots very obviously still damp.   
  


They finish a few minutes before the café opens, Jon waving goodbye as Martin walks up the beach to the pier.   
  


Much to his embarrassment, Tim absolutely grills him for details their entire shift.   
  


* * *

  
Martin tries to read to pass the evening, curled up under a blanket on the couch. But all he can think about is Jon.

That soft smile. His cute laugh. His gentle demeanor. 

Martin had gotten a glimpse of Jon's true personality, how he acted when he thought no one else was around.   
  


_Oh shit._

  
It's been one day and his reservation is already fading.  
  


* * *

  
Now that they had verbalized some type of agreement, Martin at least expected to see Jon when he popped into the café this time. Unlike before though, it was the late afternoon, a couple hours before they closed. They exchanged pleasantries, Jon ordered his now usual tea along with a croissant, then Martin dropped it off at the counter with only a few more words between them.

He peeks over as he pours some milk into another customer's order, watching Jon set up some work on the counter instead of immediately going off and prompting him to follow. Jon opens a laptop, tapping a pen on his chin as he settles into his seat. Martin takes notice of his sour expression and figures it has to do with him somehow. He brings it up in a free moment. 

“Um, Jon?” Martin says quietly and Jon glances up, resting his pen below his chin. “Don’t feel obligated to stay at the café if you’ve got more important things to do. Not sure if your nan put you up to this or not, but between you and me it doesn’t matter _where_ you take your tea. But if you’d like to stay, I-I’m not trying to force you out or something. I just don’t want you to feel like it’s necessary to — well, do _anything_ really.” Martin tries to rectify, not wanting to be a burden to Jon, especially over something neither of them agreed to. To his surprise, Jon doesn’t immediately pick up his things and leave with a curt goodbye. Instead, he stays put, typing some keys on his laptop. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay. Anything to be out of the house.” 

“Oh...o-h!” Martin perks up with realization, pleased to not be the source of Jon’s irritation. “Perks of quality family time, is it?” He chuckles lightly, unfortunately able to heavily relate.

“Yes.” Jon acknowledges with a raised eyebrow. “She told me I needed a haircut today. But I got one before I came down because I knew she'd say that.” He rolls his eyes with a huff. That earns a hearty laugh out of Martin and Jon smiles at a joke well landed, glad his dry tone didn’t overshadow it.

“God, I remember the first time I chopped all my hair off. My mum got _so_ pissed off, I wasn’t allowed to use scissors for a month. But that didn’t stop me, of course.” Martin smirks, flicking his shorts bangs out a bit. 

“Of course.” Jon agrees emphatically. “I remember I came home from my first semester at Uni with an undercut and an eyebrow piercing. That got me grounded for a week but I just used it to give myself these.” He points the end of his pen to both ears, each lobe double pierced with two black studs. 

“You did not!” Martin opens his mouth, shocked. 

“I did.” Jon smirks.

"Geez," Martin leans with one hand on the counter, the other coming to his hip. He had gotten the sense that Jon was a bit of a troublemaker from his demeanor but not nearly to that extent. He wonders how the hell a teen rebel with an undercut turned into a stuffy researcher in tweed. "If I had pulled something like that, my mum would've disowned me."

Jon stifles a snort in his hand, careful not to smudge the pen against his face. They stick on the topic of family, swapping stories about the disciplining figures that ruled their childhoods. The conversation turns to the woes of visiting them during adulthood, Jon having much to say about it. 

“It just feels like a reversion for both of us. Back to a fixed script or something, no matter how much time passes.”

“Mm. Yeah, I hear you.” Martin nods then delves into a rehearsed pretense. “I try to visit my mum a couple months out of the year for an early holiday. Avoid the rush and all that. She lives up near Manchester, home-ish. Feel kind of bad that I live so far away now but I just — just don’t like being there either. Not the nicest memories, like you said.” He shrugs. He hadn’t seen his mother in years but certainly remembered how she treated him. Despite everything, she left him with a convenient cover up for his real holiday. 

Every year, starting in late September, he would spend nearly two months at sea swimming anywhere he liked, only coming up to land for short breaks. Despite Martin’s insistent questioning, his mother never clearly explained why they felt compelled to take such journeys every year. As far as Martin had researched, harbour seals are non-migratory so that didn’t make sense, at least in his case. The only other thing that seemed plausible was that they’re meant to follow some type of selkie courting season, since a few of the months matched up. He had indeed run into some others like him along his travels, but never really felt welcome enough to interact. Much less to ask such an intimate and frankly naive question about the existence of a courting season. However, it did seem to explain some of the notice he would get, the occasional male selkie vying for his attention. Their attempts at romance however, would remain unreciprocated because Martin did _not_ appreciate the pushy type. Besides, it’s not like dedicating a whole season to courting suddenly made him the master of romance — none of that ‘natural instinct’ bullshit. In fact, the season made him feel even lonelier than normal more often than not, knowing it's the time where he should be finding someone but isn’t looking. 

The last thing Martin wants to do is stir up a bout of bad feelings, so he moves to change the subject. 

“I’m just lucky Sasha is so flexible with my schedule. Last job I had wouldn’t even give me three days off.” 

“That’s terrible!” 

“I know right? God, awful place it was, really.” 

They start talking about jobs then, Martin taking the lead, having held plenty of positions in a variety of industries — retail, restaurants, mechanics, even a fisherman back in Grimsby. After finishing his last customer horror story, Martin asks for more details about Jon’s research. Unlike last time, Jon obliges with actual answers rather than the vague, nonspecific ones he gave before, though he still doesn't give too many details. Martin thinks he might be downplaying it because of the complicated science behind his work, so he asks for some clarification. A few simple questions later and Martin notices a difference in Jon's manner. He starts talking for longer and speaking more freely about what led him to research. Then Martin watches as Jon slowly comes alive the more interest and attention he’s shown. He gesticulates animatedly and speaks passionately as he delves into one subject, then another, and then another — like an open book with an unwavering smile. 

Martin thinks it's absolutely endearing to see this completely different side of him. 

“The specific heat capacity of water is very, very unique, probably my personal favourite. It’s 4.184 Joules over grams times Kelvin. That’s energy over mass by temperature essentially. But compare it to, say, iron which is 0.45 — 4.184 is remarkably high! It’s why water can regulate heat so well, and by extension why places near the ocean don’t have as extreme weather compared to inland. It’s even why coolants for vehicles and machinery are water-based. Well, water and glycol. But that’s another thing that—” Jon stops suddenly upon realizing he’s about to start on another tangent. He recoils the hand he was using to gesture, bringing it back to his body. 

“Sorry. I’ve been talking too long.” He apologizes sheepishly, wringing his hands together. He should know better than to subject someone stuck on their work shift to his ramblings. 

“No, no, it’s okay.” Martin waves his hand. “You can go on, I like listening. Makes the time go by nicely.” He hums, smiling. 

“Oh,” Jon blinks, surprised, noting a soft warmth in his cheeks. It’s few and far between he’s given acceptance like this, and coming from Martin it sounds genuine, not just a courtesy. “Alright then.” 

Eventually his second cup has long since dried and Jon sees the time on his laptop, suddenly realizing he’s been at the café for over two hours. He jumps to gather his bag together, sincerely thanks Martin for the tea and his time, apologizes for overstaying, then hurries off to the beach. 

Once on the sand, Jon slows his stride, feeling as if he had forgotten something. A piece of equipment? No, he had checked his bag twice over. He definitely paid for his tea, he made sure of that. Maybe it —   
  


_Oh._

  
He realizes he forgot to ask Martin’s help, having been too caught up in talking to remember why he went to the café in the first place. In fact, he barely even got any work done there. 

Jon huffs, laughing to himself.   
  


* * *

  
The next morning, Jon tries to replicate the café tea with home ingredients. 

It doesn’t taste as good without conversation.   
  


* * *

  
Having gone into the café a couple more times since, Jon figures a break is due for the weekend. Only for Martin of course, not for himself. There’s a significant amount of work he can get ahead on. 

And more truthfully, it’s because his grandmother doesn’t take a break on the weekends either.

* * *

Martin is coming back from a morning swim along the ocean drop off point when he spots Jon wading around the water, speaking into a dictaphone. His plan was to head over to Boscombe Market to see if he could scrounge up breakfast plus a few more groceries, but this took his priority. He perches himself onto a rock, lifting his hind flippers into the air to dry off. He’s content to watch Jon from a distance until he leaves the water, keeping an eye out for any sign of Lukas. 

The sky is overcast, but the late summer heat still lingers through the clouds. His fur dried and warm, Martin feels himself dozing off while observing Jon finish up, wading towards the shore. 

Then Martin watches him get pushed over by a wave and fall face first into the water. 

Immediately shoving off the rock, Martin swims over as Jon pushes himself up from the shallow, groaning in disgust as he shakes off all the water, seaweed, and sand from his hair. He checks his pocket, ensuring the dictaphone is still safe inside, then pushes his hand all the way from his chin to his forehead, pushing his bangs back. Sensing movement in the water behind him, Jon jumps with a tiny yelp, whipping around to once again find a curious seal sniffing at him. 

“Oh, hello.” Jon greets breathily, still recovering from falling. The seal swims around his legs, sticking its snout out to rest on Jon’s thigh while it lets out a puff of breath. 

“Did you come to check on me?” Jon chuckles, tilting his head and the seal slaps down into the water, rubbing its side against Jon’s legs. He chuckles even more. “I’ll take that as a yes. Honestly glad you were the only one to see that. Bit embarrassing for me.” 

Jon begins stepping towards the shore again, grabbing a towel from his mat to dry off his hair. He sits down and watches the seal actually bounce over to him, clawing a flipper on his boot. Jon raises an eyebrow, pouring over the details of the thing. Seals mostly looked the same but this one was notably large in size and extremely affectionate. It has to be the same one from the beach and the one who found his refractometer. 

“Do you remember me?” Jon wraps the towel around his neck, lifting out a hand to the seal who places its chin in his palm. That’s all the answer he needs for Jon to scratch along its jaw, some of the whiskers tickling across his knuckles. 

“Are you wanting to be my little researcher buddy?” He hums with a soft laugh, actually feeling a bit overjoyed that a seal would think of him as a friend. “That’s a tough job, you know. I’ve been told I’m a difficult person.” 

Jon exhales slowly, petting along with a bittersweet smile. Martin felt a pang of pity seeing his mood dampen from the admission. He offers what consolation he can, allowing Jon to express a few more insecurities while stroking a hand along his fur. He looks up with as much sympathy as a seal can muster, wishing he could talk through it with Jon as a person. 

Soon Jon is cleaning up, regretfully saying his goodbyes but thanking him for being a good listener. 

Martin spends his time shopping at Boscombe Market in a daze. He wonders if leading two separate relationships with Jon is going to become a problem.   
  


* * *

  
“Is your researcher boyfriend coming in today? Think we’re out of fresh ginger.” Tim nudges around one of the bottom cabinets, checking a few other produce containers while Sasha kicks her legs on the counter, adding ginger to the shopping list. Martin whips his head around, clutching his morning cup of tea. 

“W-wait, hold on. H-he’s not my boyfriend!” Martin protests. Tim and Sasha exchange a look of disbelief between them, much to Martin’s chagrin. 

“What’s that look supposed to mean?” He asks sharply, brows creasing together. 

“I mean, whatever you say! If he’s not your boyfriend, then he’s not,” Tim shrugs, ducking his head back under the cabinet. “Not like he comes in every other day to see you, likes your tea the best, talks with you for hours —” 

“We do not talk for _hours,_ Tim.” 

“You kind of do, though.” Sasha hesitantly admits. 

“Well, whatever!” Martin throws a hand up with a petulant scoff. Then he sighs, frowning as he rests his back against the counter. “I’m pretty sure he’s just being polite. Apologizing for dragging me around by buying tea and all that. I really don’t think it’s anything more than him needing a favor.” 

“Maybe. But he seems pretty fixed on bringing you.” Sasha points out. “I told him all about my experience researching for my thesis. I mean, he was interested in it but I haven’t exactly been offered an unofficial assistant position.” 

“W-well, I’m sure there’s a perfect explanation for that.” Martin defends. “Like figuring you’re too busy between grad school and working. And the fact that you’re the owner’s daughter.”

“Hm,” Sasha makes an unconvinced hum. “Still though, he doesn’t spend much time in the café when you’re not around.”

“He — he doesn’t?” Martin hates how delighted he sounds, betrayed by a clumsy smile. Sasha happily shakes her head, knowing she has him hooked now. 

“He comes in, gets something, then leaves. Only talk we get is at the register.” She explains then brings a hand to her chest, holding her head proud. “Save for discussing my thesis, of course.” 

“Yeah, it’s not like Jon doesn’t like talking to us. He just likes talking to _you_ the _most_.” Tim adds, his voice echoing slightly within the cabinet. 

“Oh...” Martin looks to the side, brushing a stray hair behind his ear. He feels a spark of hope but scrambles to extinguish it. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, especially if they’re being unconsciously swayed by nostalgia for who Jon used to be. People grow up, they change. Martin doesn’t want to chase a delusion facading as a dream. 

“I’d even say Jon wants to do some _personal research,_ if you catch my drift.” Tim punctuates his statement with a salacious wink. Martin shakes his head, an embarrassed flush covering his face. 

“Oh my _god._ ” Martin grits out but the seething expression doesn’t faze Tim. 

“Next thing you know, you’re going out to the beach at sunset. An enchanting summer evening.” His voice goes low, setting the scene. “You go to hand Jon a beaker, your fingers brush. He turns to you, looking stunning against the orange glow. Next thing you know, you’re leaning in and then suddenly—” Tim clasps his hands together, prepared to make a kissing noise but Martin snatches one of the glasses left on the counter and levels it over his head, fingers gripped tight around the curvature. 

“Tim, I swear to god, you finish that sentence and I break this over your head.” 

“You’d do that in front of Sasha?” Tim asks with mock concern. He turns to Sasha, clasped hands resting under his chin and quivering a lip. Sasha glances down at him in consideration then turns to Martin with an evil grin. 

“Do it.” She commands and Martin raises the glass further with a smile. 

“Okay, okay!” Tim thrusts his hands out in surrender, shutting his eyes. He feels the glass tap lightly against his forehead, a light scolding. He opens his eyes with a relieved smile, taking the glass from Martin’s hand and setting it in the sink. “Alright, think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Yeah, lesson being that Jon asking me for help is nothing more than that and not something within my control.” Martin asserts, crossing his arms sternly. Tim evidently did not learn his lesson as he immediately goads him again. 

“Right, because it’s completely involuntary on your end when you agree to help him. Oh, why yes, Jon! Let me hold all your things for you. I don’t mind leaving work for an hour! As long as you need, I’ll leave Tim to do it all.” He recites, the last words with the slightest hint of legitimate annoyance. He turns to Martin with a raised eyebrow. “I have more if you’d like to hear?” 

“I think that’s enough.” Martin tries to muster up a scowl but it comes off more as a whiny pout, knowing how right Tim is and feeling guilty for the inconvenience. 

They had to cut him some slack though. Anyone who just realized the man who breezed into town is also coincidentally your first crush would also have a difficult time saying no. 

Besides, he can’t help if someone else favored him for once. He’d be lying if hearing Jon’s preference for his company didn’t send a burst of unbridled joy through him; a feeling of fulfillment so unfamiliar that he wanted to cling onto it and never let go. 

Martin sighs wistfully, leaning his elbows onto the counter and gazing out the front window. 

Jon liked talking to _him_ best. 

Jon liked _his_ tea best.

Jon liked _his_ help best. 

And on his end, Martin quietly reciprocated some of the preference. It was nice to hear Jon talk, even if he didn’t always understand the topics he talked about. Jon’s voice was pleasant to listen to — normally a bit rough and grumbly but when he was focused on something, it could become so light and smooth, like the gentle lap of the tide or the comforting crackle of a fire. The way it became so kind, enveloping him in a remarkable softness whenever Jon doted over a familiar seal. Martin feels like he could listen to Jon talk for hours about whatever came to his mind and not grow tired of it. 

Maybe the two of them could talk about whatever they’d like for hours on end. 

God, there he goes again.   
  


_Why don’t write another poem about it you soppy bastard...  
  
_

He resolves to quit daydreaming for the rest of his shift, trying instead to think of ways he’ll distract himself at home where there isn’t scheduled work to provide an escape. Maybe he could clean out his fridge...or something boring like that. 

Life is fine. Simplicity usually comforts him, especially with his unique situation. But it gets dull at times, shifting idly between work, home, and the sea. 

Not really having any one around. 

There’s a small part of him that hopes Jon will need him tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooooooo!!!!! this chapter (plus the next one) took forever, but now it's here and posted!! we had so much fun writing this one and delving into all the little details, so we hope you enjoyed as well!
> 
> Leo: (slaps Martin) this boy can fit so much yearning in him  
> Bri: (jon voice) sir that is my emotional support seal
> 
> also fun fact, the pose seal martin was doing to dry off is called a banana pose! we encourage you to search it up, it's very very cute ^^


	5. Remembering Old, Collecting New Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw mild peril regarding water and waves, mentions of hunters, concern for mistreatment (though misinterpreted on Jon's part), possibly morbid details of selkie pelt, friendly teasing

Everything just went downhill from there. Martin couldn’t seem to choke down the unexpected crush that had wormed its way back into his heart. He wanted nothing more than to cram it back into the deep recesses of his mind: specifically the overflowing closet labelled repression. Lock the door, throw away the key type of thing. 

But _no ._

Jon kept coming in, nursing their acquaintanceship into a steady attachment. It was the same pattern every time: Jon would swing by the café and buy something, they’d talk for a while, and then he’d ask for another favor. Martin would agree and either get pulled away in the moment (if time allowed) or meet up with Jon after his shift ended. Then he’d get mercilessly teased by his coworkers. Sasha kept joking that Jon was ‘stealing him away’, which made his cheeks burn. Tim had even commented that he should put in his two week notice and become a full time research assistant, going so far as to list off all the ‘perks’ of the position, to which Martin sniped about the shortcomings of his own personal romances (implying Sasha) and successfully spent the rest of his shift without hearing so much as a peep. 

Thank god they hadn't figured out he’s been transforming into a seal in order to see Jon on their days apart, or else he'd never hear the end of it. 

Regardless, the childish teasing is getting on his nerves. He isn’t a pushover! He just doesn’t feel the need to express any limitations with Jon because he’s already been accommodating them. Jon only ever wandered in on quiet days, never asked for more than one favor in a single day, and rarely kept Martin for more than an hour or so. Now that Martin knew what he was getting into, he could easily fit in a few small favors per week because, honestly, what else was he doing? Besides work, of course, but Sasha approved his occasional short absences so long as she kept a front row seat to ‘the newest rom-com’ in town.   
  


_God, she hangs out with Tim too much._

_Rom-com. Psh. Hardly.  
  
_

Martin didn’t even know how Jon felt about him. He was hard to get a read on sometimes. Yeah, other people noticed Jon liked Martin’s company but that didn’t automatically mean romantic intent! They could just be friends!   
  


Friends... 

  
At least Martin knows what he thinks about Jon. He’s nice once you get to know him better. Has a hidden soft side, especially when it comes to animals. Assertive, not domineering, that's one of his insecurities. Passionate. Career oriented, maybe to a fault. Probably doesn’t give any time to dating but he is attractive. Those long, slender hands that wrap so elegantly around the curve of ceramic. Beautiful dark eyes, revealed whenever he swapped his glasses for contacts. Curly black hair, peppered with grey, that would drip over his face from a splash of water…

He could go on, and the fact that he could makes him sigh, weary. He’s been trying to strengthen his conviction. He wants to reject one of Jon’s requests just to prove he has the willpower to do so and then remain wholly unaffected by the decision. Something to convince Jon, his coworkers, and more importantly himself that he’s not always available, he’s not a pushover, and he’s certainly not attempting to bend the hand of fate so that his yearning may possibly be requited. 

Really, he’s been trying to stay in control but who is he fooling? 

He’s falling for Jon all over again. 

To be honest, he just feels disappointed in himself. Like usual, a nice boy gives him attention and he falls into an unrealistic fantasy. Only this time, it has the tantalizing possibility of actually happening on the condition that it must occur at the _slowest pace imaginable_. To top off the agony, the sea glass embedded in Martin’s necklace saturates his reflection in vibrant blue every morning; a constant reminder of all these feelings. 

Still, Martin isn’t surrendering to a losing battle of self-discipline just yet. He swears next time he sees Jon, things will be different. He can commit. He can subdue his traitorous mouth. Even if his schedule is completely free, he will say no. Even if Jon asks in his cute, shy way, wringing his hands together like a nervous secondary asking someone on a first date, Martin will still politely decline. And if Jon makes a disappointed face along with that little ‘oh’ he does? Martin will resist against all odds. 

Unless Jon is planning to do something stupidly dangerous. In which case, human Martin will gently turn him down but seal Martin can help in his own way, and everyone will be none the wiser.

Either way, it’s the perfect plan. There’s no way he can mess it up.   
  


* * *

  
It’s about late afternoon when the man on his mind strolls up to the café. Through the window, Martin can see Jon approaching and it sends a jolt through his heart but he doubles down, keeping focused on clearing a table. He even pretends not to notice when Jon comes through the door, letting Tim greet him like any other customer. 

“Hey, come on in! Jon, right?” Tim grins cheerfully as he walks over to the register. 

“Ah, yes, hello. Tim...right?” Jon lifts a hesitant finger and Tim nods. Jon nods back, relieved he remembered despite being terrible with names in general. “Right. I have to apologize, I came in to ask for kind of a big favor. None of you would happen to have a boat, would you?” Jon chances a glance to the other side of the café, landing on Martin who definitely senses it but keeps his back turned. 

“Well! Today is your lucky day because I just so happen to be the owner of a beautiful yet modest motor boat.” Tim proudly points a thumb to himself. 

“Oh, good.” Jon perks up, but worries how he’ll manage with Tim. They barely knew each other past a first name basis. 

“But if you need it today, I won’t be able to drive you. Gotta work myself to pieces at this job and then the next one.” He lolls his head dramatically and Sasha playfully swats at his arm before returning to her book. 

“I see…” Jon frowns, crossing his arms. He knew how to rent and operate a boat himself but he didn’t particularly like remembering all the tedious rules and regulations that came along with it. With someone else driving, he could just focus on work instead of worrying about Marine Patrol. They loved to be pricks and Jon hated it. Plus, with his luck, Captain ‘Spiteful’ Lukas would sooner see him capsized, so Jon would rather have another person present. Now where was Marine Patrol on that? Probably either didn’t care, got paid off, or something equally as sleazy. 

His luck seems to turn around when Tim pipes up again. 

“Although…” Tim leans his head to the side, voice growing a bit louder. “I think Martin would be happy to help, right?” 

Jon turns, both of them now staring at Martin who’s frozen in place, having made it only halfway to the back employee door. Martin sheepishly smiles at Jon and when the latter looks down briefly to check his watch, Martin shoots a furious, wide eyed glare at Tim who only smirks, not at all ashamed to have caught him before he could make his hasty escape. Jon looks back at Martin with hopeful eyes, though he tries to keep his tone less obvious.

“Do you know how to drive a boat?” Jon raises an eyebrow. 

“Uh, y-yeah.” 

“Gave him a spare key. We practically share it!” Tim adds on and Martin wonders if Sasha would have to fire him if he attempted to strangle a coworker while on the clock.

“Oh, well. Assuming you’re free then, I don’t really care who drives it.” Jon states, feigning indifference, but deep down he would much prefer Martin; would much prefer to get this all sorted out today really. “Should only take a couple hours at most. I know that's pretty long though, so I'd understand if you have other preoccupations…”

“Um…” Martin’s resolve withers seeing Jon’s expectant face, the exact one he said he could resist. Martin grips the rag in his hand tighter, trying to muster up an excuse but stumbling over words. His pre-planned script did not account for a Stoker brand interruption. 

He could still reel it in though. After all, it's easy! He just has to come up with a simple excuse on the fly, that’s all he needs. Any reason to be busy. Grocery shopping, calling his mum, cleaning out of his freezer — god, _anything_ _._ Even a bland ‘no, can’t, sorry’ would work. It couldn’t have been more laid out, more prompted, more guided.

And yet.

“Ah, sure! We can go after my shift’s done?”   
  


_God dammit._

  
“Thanks. I’ll meet you at the docks around,” Jon checks his watch again. “Say, six?”

“Yeah, sure. Enough time for me to...eat dinner.” Martin barely smiles, bemoaning his lack of self restraint. He's lost the battle, officially.

“Alright, see you then.” Jon gives a small wave, turning to the door. 

“See you…” Martin can only lift a single finger to reciprocate the gesture. Once Jon is out of sight, Martin drops his head into his hands and lets out a long, deep sigh. Tim doesn’t waste any time on the subject.

“I think that went—” 

“Tim, you say another word and I key your boat to shreds.”   
  


* * *

  
Jon went home in a splendid mood, having established easy access to a motor boat and with a couple people to drive it no less. All he had to do was pay for fuel and he’d be back to London with his completed research in no time. 

The mood was short lived however, because when he told his grandmother about the boating plans while finishing dinner, he was being kicked out the door with a tin of biscuits in his hands. 

“Nan, I already have too much to carry—” 

“Those aren’t for you. Those are for Martin.”

“Christ,” Jon mutters under his breath. “I already offered him other means of compensation, alright? He said he doesn’t want anything more than what I'm _already_ doing.” Jon tries to hand the tin over but his grandmother shoves it right back. 

“Then this is my means of compensation. Thankful for someone keeping you out of trouble.” 

“I do not — _he does not_ —!” Jon sputters. 

“Don’t waste time arguing. You'll keep him waiting.” His grandmother points a stern finger at him before shutting the front door, leaving Jon to stew in his thoughts.   
  


As he approaches the docks, Jon fidgets with the tupperware stacked awkwardly in his hands. Some of his grandmother’s words did get him thinking, but it was just a resurgence of things he had already been agonizing about: burdening Martin with another workload (guilty), having to gauge social boundaries with an entirely new person (the worst), what exact opinion Martin held of him (awful no doubt), all while searching for the specific words to describe how he personally felt about this as well (???). 

Ultimately, he’s just thankful to have something other than patronage to give as a token of appreciation. Jon had passing thoughts of taking Martin out somewhere that wasn’t the café for a due change, buying him lunch or something like that, but he’s just too busy. 

And it might be interpreted as a romantic gesture.

Not that Jon would mind terribly. He got along with Martin well enough. Friendly face to rely on, nice company. Listens to him, and Jon listens back. Their conversations flow more naturally than he expects from someone he’s known for around three weeks. It would be fine but, to be honest, he’s not very interested in a budding late summer romance at the moment. Even if the mess of his personal reservations is some type of hidden interest, it’s not like he would have a chance. If dragging around a poor café barista to help with his job is genuinely his best attempt at flirting (not like he’s that great to begin with), then no one in their right mind would say yes to a date. 

So, he’s perfectly content to keep whatever relationship they have professional unless something drastically changes his feelings. Which he doubts. He’ll be gone long before anything substantial can happen.   
  


* * *

  
Jon continues walking until he finds Martin sitting on the edge of the pier, kicking his legs absentmindedly while scrolling through his phone. Despite his casual position, he wears a nervous face which only worries Jon further. 

“Hi.” Jon greets and Martin jumps with a tiny yelp, having been absorbed in an article. It was a cliché horoscope reading about romance and compatibility — none of it helpful. 

“Hoo — ah, s-sorry…” 

“Oh, no, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Yeah, no, sorry. Just — didn’t hear you coming. Um, hi.” Martin shoves his phone into his pocket, hoping Jon hadn’t seen what he was reading. He stands up, rustling the boat keys out. 

“That the, uh, boat?” Jon asks while peering over at the motor boat docked next to them then grimaces internally for asking such an obvious question. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s...her? Do people say that? Nevermind, forget I said that. Yes, that’s the boat.” Martin stumbles along, following Jon with his eyes as the latter peeks around at the boat’s exterior. 

“S.S Stoker…” Jon reads, surveying the painted decal. He quirks an eyebrow with a snort. “Not quite. S.S actually stands for steamship and this is very much not one.” He muses over the name for a moment then turns to Martin. “Or is it some kind of joke?” 

“I think it’s supposed to stand for sexy or something? I don’t know, you’d have to ask Tim. Or his brother. Think they named it together.” Martin shrugs. 

“Hm. Okay.” Jon raises his eyebrow even further, an unreadable expression on his face while he takes another look at the boat. Martin tries to look anywhere but Jon’s face, and his nervous eyes end up falling onto the container in Jon’s hands. 

“Um, what’s that you—” Martin cuts off with a noise of surprise when a tin is shoved unceremoniously into his arms. 

“It’s — it’s for you! Er, pistachio shortbread. Homemade. Not by me. My grandmother. Not that I don’t know how to make them, I just — I don’t really have the time right now to make anything. So it’s another thank you gift. A pretty poor one considering I’m dragging you all over the place again—” 

“Jon...”

“Hm?” Jon frowns, tight lipped, realizing he’s been going off on a nervous tangent. 

“It’s alright, really. You can never go wrong with biscuits. Never had pistachio before though, so I’m kind of excited to see what they’ll taste like.” Martin smiles softly, holding the tin a little tighter. “Thank you. It’s a perfectly fine gift.” 

The positive reception sends a wave of warmth through Jon and he knows he’ll be riding the high of a successful interaction for the rest of the evening. Martin tries to decipher the delighted look Jon is giving him but decides to focus on the task at hand instead. 

“Right! Water’s not going to research itself. Ready to get going?” Martin asks, taking the long step down into the boat. He sets the tin down on one of the seats then turns back to Jon with open hands. “Come on then.” He smiles reassuringly, beckoning his hands a couple times. Jon’s eyes flick down to the outstretched hands and he hopes this is what he’s supposed to be doing. He extends a hand softly into Martin’s and is guided down into the boat, the step only causing one gentle sway of the water. 

“Er, thanks.” Jon nods quickly before recoiling his hand back, placing his bag onto one of the seats to start prepping. 

“Y-yeah, of course. Have to get you in the boat i-if you want to go on the...boat.” Martin flushes, trying to ignore the clamminess of his palms as he steps over to the wheel. He had honestly been reaching for Jon’s huge bag of equipment so that it wouldn’t get dropped while stepping in but based on the way Jon seemed a bit flustered just from holding his hand then...

Well, Martin doesn’t say anything. He’s perfectly content to hide a smile while starting up the ignition.   
  


* * *

  
Jon guides their navigation towards Swanage, going slowly along the coastline until boating across the way to Ballard Cliffs. At the mention of cliffs, Martin’s stomach dropped. Not out of his own personal fear (heights were whatever in his opinion) but out of fear that these research outings were escalating. From what he'd seen, Martin held some comfort knowing that Jon didn’t always jump head first into immediate danger but there were still a few close calls that nearly made Martin's heart burst out of his chest. 

Luckily as they get closer, Jon doesn’t run them up onto the actual cliff, instead asking Martin to stop near an outcropping of rocks. Martin sneaks them in as shallow as the boat can go then sets the anchor. He hopes this experiment will go smoothly and more importantly, _safely_. The water is a little more choppy than his liking but they stay steady enough; Jon stands while completing his mapping of the coastal area. Martin sits silently as he keeps a close eye on Jon, having learned it’s useless to engage him in small talk while he’s absorbed in work. A few minutes pass by and Martin settles further in his seat, content at not having to intervene. However when Jon steps to turn around, a wave rocks the boat at the perfect moment, putting him off balance and stumbling backwards. 

“Woah, careful!” Martin stands up and manages to catch him by the shoulders, Jon’s back hitting his chest with a soft thud. Martin sets him straight and Jon breathes a sigh of relief when he finds the map unsmudged. 

“Are all hydrologists accident prone or is it just you?” Martin teases with a chuckle. Jon glances over his shoulder and clambers away, suddenly aware of Martin’s closeness. 

“H-huh? Wh — I—” Jon sputters, pressing his thumb deep into the crease of the map. He’s glad it's hard to notice when his face flushes but his voice isn't as forgiving. “I am _not_ _._ It’s not as easy to balance as you think.” Jon huffs out, blowing up the hair that always seems to stray onto the middle of his face. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound — well, mean.” Martin laughs again, sitting back down. “It’s just, I don’t know, kind of funny? You work with water all the time but you don’t seem to have your ‘sea legs’ and all that.” 

Jon grumbles instead of answering one razzing comment with another, sparing Martin the arsenal of repartee he has. It’ll put Martin on a defensive rant and Jon needs to move on to the next steps of his research today. He stuffs the map away into his jacket pocket as he walks over to his bag on the seat.

“So, what are we doing today exactly?” Martin asks, trying to revive the conversation and to honestly figure out why Jon chose this spot in particular. 

“Mainly focusing on erosion and salinity this time around. Measuring the water line and all that.” Jon describes while wriggling his jacket off, revealing a plain t-shirt with a company logo underneath. 

“Um, okay.." Martin watches, confused, "And why do you need your jacket off for that?” He’s not one to question research methods, especially Jon’s, but he’s fairly certain ‘stripping off protective outer layers’ has never been the first step. 

“Because I don’t want it to get wet.” Jon looks up from tucking his trousers further into his boots. 

“I doubt the waves are going to be that big today.” Martin glances over the side of the boat, holding a hand to his chin. “I mean, it’s a little shaky but nothing major.” 

“I know.”

“What?” Martin stares over at cliffside, brows upturning as worry starts building. “Aren’t you...getting samples from the boat?”

“I’m going on the rocks.” Jon states conversationally, flicking his head to the side. He starts checking over the tools in his bag while Martin sits in stunned silence for a moment. 

“The rocks.” Martin repeats, raising his eyebrows, and Jon nods with a hum of acknowledgment. Martin blinks a couple times, making a tiny scoff. He should have expected nothing less. “Those rocks. The same rocks that, from what I can see from here, are covered in algae and seaweed. Things that are known to be slippery. Not a stable surface to stand on, Jon.” 

“That’s why I wear boots, believe it or not.” Jon plants his heel on the floor, showcasing the industrial boot. 

“Standard procedures, is it?” Martin asks with a flat expression, voice dripping with disbelief. 

“Mmhm.” 

Martin pinches the bridge of his nose. _"_ _Jon… "_

“Hm?” 

“Standard procedures? Really?” Martin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Why do I feel like you’re only doing these things because you’ve been left unsupervised.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon glares, more of a command than a question. 

“You just — I know you have all the important smart person certifications but you are the most willfully ignorant person ever when it comes to safety practices.” 

“I have safety practices. I’m stepping two feet onto rocks and _not falling_.” Jon asserts with an offended scoff, adjusting the setting on one of his instruments. 

“That is much more than two feet!” Martin protests, gesturing to the rocks. He elects not to mention the time he did witness Jon fall flat into the ocean when he was a seal lounging nearby, or the other multitude of times he has not seen general caution taken where it was due. “What if you fall though, you’ll —” 

“I won’t. Fall. I’ve done this before.” 

“Wh — before?!” Martin sputters. “What, jumping off boats onto cliffs?!”

“Done worse than that.” Jon quirks an eyebrow, unfazed by the concern, and picks up his bag, holding it out to Martin. 

“Worse?!” Martin yells, snatching the bag in one hand and clutching the other to his head. The news felt like a migraine coming on. “Jon, you are a _hydrologist_! That is not a dangerous job, so why do you make it one?” 

"You don't know much about hydrology then." Jon snorts, ignoring Martin's distress as he steps over the back seats and onto the stern.

“That doesn't — hey! _Hey_ . No. _Jon._ ” Martin calls through gritted teeth and takes a step to scramble after him but stops after, not wanting to rock the boat if Jon is really planning on braving a jump. From the looks of Jon bending his knees, he’s not bluffing. Martin digs his fingers into Jon’s bag, hurriedly shouting last minute warnings, bordering on threats, for any chance of reconsideration. “You are _not_ cracking your skull open on my watch, not allowed. Jon!! Are you seriously ignoring me? I swear to god, if you take _one more step_ —” Martin lets out a loud gasp as Jon leaps onto the rocks, sticking the landing with only a minor slip. Jon turns around his arms still slightly outstretched for balance, making relaxed eye contact with Martin who's covering his mouth with both hands. 

“Would you look at that? Skull...uncracked. As predicted.” Jon states with mock observation, smirking all the while. 

_“ You_ _—”_ Martin seethes. “Are _such_ a bastard, you know that?” 

“Yes, yes. Now can you toss over my bag?” 

“Tch, see if I drag you into the A&E when you end up falling…” Martin grumbles under his breath, stepping over onto the stern and shuffling as far out to the edge as he can. “Ready?”

Jon nods, holding his arms out. 

“Okay. 1...2...” 

“Martin, just throw it already.” 

“Excuse me, I’m trying not to knock you into the water!” Martin huffs, flexing his knees. 

“You honestly think a bag is going to knock me into the water?”

“Fine, Mr. Infallible. You really want me to throw it?” Martin squats down farther with a dangerous look in his eye. Jon's muscles tighten up and he quickly concedes. 

"Er, a toss is more than acceptable." Jon braces for impact in case Martin is going to work out his frustrations with some target practice. Thankfully, the bag is gently tossed into Jon’s waiting arms and the force only causes him to stumble a bit. Regardless, he moved an inch which made Martin let out another worried noise. 

“You alright?” Jon arches a wry eyebrow as he slings the bag around his shoulder. He won't admit it out loud but it's funny seeing how many reactions he can pull out of Martin’s face by doing the slightest thing. 

_“ Peachy._ _”_ Martin hisses, balling his hands into stiff fists beside the glare on his face. 

“Okay, if you say so.” Jon lulls complacently and Martin groans, running his hands through his hair. When he looks up again, Jon points over to the side of the boat. “I left my notebook on the seat. Need you to record results while I do this.” 

Martin sucks his teeth, grabbing the notebook and sitting down with a huff.   
  


* * *

  
Martin’s been doing his best to keep up, trying to listen intently for the numbers being read out but Jon keeps scooting so precariously close to the edge of the rocks, it’s about to make him faint from the stress. Not only that, but there's also the waves that keep crashing against the cliffside and up Jon’s legs. Despite its seriousness, all of Martin’s cautionary advice is volleyed back with a sardonic joke or sarcastic recognition on Jon’s end. Martin puffs up at every dismissal and, annoyingly enough, feels the tug of a smile threatening to break his worried face whenever Jon makes a particularly funny joke. If they weren’t bickering about his complicated grasp on well-being, Martin would have found it entirely endearing to have this playful side of Jon at a time where he could actually respond with his own banter. But right now, he wishes Jon would fall just to wipe that dumb little smirk off of his face.

Bouncing his leg restlessly, Martin awaits the announcement that they’re finishing up soon. He had given up on shouting anymore advice that Jon was going to ignore, settling instead to give a cursory glance around the area every so often. 

As Martin slowly spins his head around, he spots an industrial ship passing by in the distance that sends a jolt of panic through his body. Industrial ships don’t usually pass along this route. He squints across the sea and can just make out the figure of Peter Lukas standing near the railing. No doubt he’s pulling another scheme to get Martin’s pelt on but it’s not going to work; Martin is smarter than that. He stands up and moves towards the side of the boat, leaning on the railing. 

“Jon."

“Oh, are we doing this again?"

“No, it’s not that—”

“For once.” Jon bites with a playful eye roll that he thinks Martin can’t see. 

“Jon, I need you to actually listen.” Martin commands tersely, not in the mood to be joking around anymore. Jon stays silent so Martin figures he's listening and continues his warning. “There’s a big wave coming, like, I’m dead serious. So can you find something to hold onto? Or better yet, hop back into the boat for a sec?” 

“Can’t. 38.05 PPT.” Jon states plainly, not looking up from fiddling with a refractometer. 

“Oh, tch, hold on.” Martin mutters, quickly writing the number down before waving his hands fretfully. “Now what do you mean you can’t? Can’t do what?”

“There’s not exactly something to grab onto.” 

“Well, can you find something? Or get in the boat!” Martin yells, trying to keep his voice level. Sensing the desperation, Jon thinks he should at least look at the danger being perceived this time. 

“Okay, hold on, I—” He glances over his shoulder then double takes when he sees the growing waves hurtling over from the distant ship’s wake. “Oh, u-uh, um— ” 

Eyes going wide, Jon realizes he won’t have time to jump to the boat so he whips his head around in search of anything to take hold of. The first thing he spots is a piece of the cliff jutting out a few meters from where he is. It’ll have to work, and so he immediately scales to the side, running with the instinct. 

“Jon, you’re running out of ground!” Martin splays out a hand, gesturing towards the thinning line of rock. 

“Then give me a better option!” Jon yells behind him, continuing to shuffle along until he can grip the stone with both hands. It’s too late to change his decision though as the waves start lashing against the cliffside. Jon braces for the impact, screwing his eyes shut. 

And then the waves gently splash against his waist, each subsequent wave lesser and lesser than the previous. 

Sure, it might’ve been enough to knock him off had he not been holding onto something for support but at the very worst it would’ve been a gentle descent. Probably would’ve just slid into the water, not been swallowed by it. 

Jon peeks an eye open, surveying his surroundings. He sees the water settling back to normal and Martin looking a bit sheepish. Then he squints his eyes into a glare, following the line of the moving ship. Something felt off; a familiar threat. 

“Are...are you okay?” Martin asks quietly, feeling a little bit embarrassed for making such a fuss, but he could never be too careful. 

“Fine,” Jon states curtly, then immediately changes the subject. “That was the Tundra, wasn’t it?” 

“Y-yeah…” Martin confirms, hesitant. He inhales shakily, shutting the notebook and placing it back on the seat. “Look, do you think we could take this data on another day? I’d rather get us back to shore. Seeing the Tundra here doesn’t sit right with me.” 

Jon keeps his glare focused intensely across the ocean. If Lukas was staring back, Jon wanted him to know he hadn’t gone unnoticed, especially if the bastard had the audacity to follow him all the way out here. Seeing Lukas a second time didn’t sit right with him either and based on Martin’s reaction, there was more to know. 

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why does that bother you?” 

“He just...” Martin frowns, tight lipped, not wanting to reveal too much. “He just doesn’t have a good reputation. Captain Lukas, I mean. It’s best if you, well, anyone really, stay away from him.”

“Believe me, I intend to after he almost drowned me.” Jon scoffs, peeling himself off the cliffside. There’s a pause in the conversation that he jumps at. “And let me make something clear, that was neither my fault nor was it me being ‘accident-prone’.”

“I mean, yeah? Obviously I don’t think you’re to blame. Peter, he — it doesn’t take much for him to...” He stops, locking his lips again. “L-look, all I'm trying to say is stay out of his business if you can help it. Please. He's dangerous.”

What surprises Jon is not the fact that Lukas is dangerous. Of course he knew that, and he’s not sure what he did to piss him off but hearing that it wasn’t the first time Lukas reacted threateningly did not bode well. 

No, what surprises Jon is that Martin didn’t seem shocked at all by the news of his encounter with Lukas. He was sure Martin would have made a horrified screech then jumped into another heavy lecture about personal safety, but he didn’t. He almost acted like...he knew? And hadn’t said anything about it? 

That concerns Jon. 

“What’s he doing that's so dangerous?” 

“What, do you need _more_ evidence than him willing to chuck you off a boat like shark bait?”

“Yes, because if it involves me directly, I’d like to know. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to make a researcher stay quiet.”

“What?” Martin stares bewildered for a couple beats before shaking his head. “Why? For what reason?” 

“Mainly polluting, in my case. But I’ve investigated other illicit activities before.” Jon states casually then sees Martin’s horrified expression, so he quickly clarifies further. “Incidentally though. The evidence usually presents itself and I don’t ignore it. And the people who are involved aren’t happy about that.” Jon exhales deeply at the end of his sentence, leveling his gaze with Martin's. Worry creases into his brow and seeps into his voice. “So that’s why if there's more you can tell me about Lukas, I'd like to hear it. For my own safety." 

A few quiet moments pass by, Martin meeting Jon's imploring eyes with heavy confliction. He hangs his head down, biting his lip. He wants to tell him everything: being a selkie, the suspicion that Lukas is a hunter, avoiding him well enough so far but still knowing the extent to which he’ll go in order to catch his mark. It would be the only way to wholly convince Jon it's not just about him, only his connection to Martin. 

A connection he doesn't want to sever.

“I — I really can’t get into the details of it, I’m sorry. You’ll have to take my word for it.” Martin pauses for Jon's acknowledgement but Jon only stares off, stuck in a pensive state. 

“Listen, let’s just get you back on the boat, yeah? Before he sees we’re still here.” Martin entreats, looking over his shoulder, and Jon unconsciously follows his line of sight. The Tundra has disappeared around another outcropping of cliffs, but Martin knows it’ll be short lived. He wouldn’t put it past Peter to swing the ship back around for another attempt. 

Jon stays silent, worrying again. Based on how Martin keeps anxiously flicking between him and the empty coast, this all runs into personal territory with him too. Jon wonders what Lukas’ play is, how Martin is involved, and if it has anything to do with his research. What if he just dug Martin deeper into whatever this is without even realizing it? There are a million questions running through his mind that he needs to figure out. 

When Jon doesn’t move from his position, brows still knitted together while he stares out at the coast, Martin calls out again. 

“Jon—” 

“I know, I heard you. I...” Jon trails off when he catches Martin’s intense gaze again, silently begging him not to pry. Jon frowns and casts a conflicted glance towards the adjacent cliffside. He doesn’t want to break the state of his concentration but is equally convinced it’s not safe to be here anymore. With a deep inhale, he manages to reign in his thoughts. 

“Okay,” He concedes, fixing the bag’s strap further onto his shoulder. “Yeah, we should head back. I can do this all another day.” He takes a few more steps down the cliffside rocks, angling himself the closest he can to the boat. Martin breathes a sigh of relief seeing Jon come down, stepping over to the stern himself. 

“Hand me your bag first, then I’ll help you up.” Martin beckons and sure enough Jon shrugs off the bag, tossing it over. Martin sets it inside the boat then turns, reaching out his hands. “Okay, and be careful not to slip before you—” 

It’s as he cautions this, Jon’s boot catches on a wet patch of algae, launching him forward. Martin thrusts out his arms in an attempt to catch him but as he grasps Jon’s wrists, the momentum pulls them both into the ocean with a loud splash.   
  


* * *

  
After Ballard Cliffs, Martin was certain Jon wasn’t going to ask for his help or even talk to him ever again. While they were driving back to the docks, Jon refused any of Martin’s offers for a towel or at least something to dry off with, instead stating curtly that the wind would dry him off well enough. Once the boat had been docked, Jon even refused Martin’s hand to get out, thanked him quickly, and then left seconds later. 

It stung seeing him walk away. Martin tried to look on the bright side when he went home that day. There’s some kind of rejection between them now. Just didn’t happen in the way he had expected, being on the receiving end of it. 

But then Jon came back to the café a few days later, reigniting his hope.   
  


* * *

  
After the weekend finished, Jon had gathered his thoughts enough to sensibly approach Martin again. He was probably overthinking the situation. As far as he knew, Martin was a good person and didn’t have any reason to lie, so Jon used his better judgement to trust his word. As much as it was gnawing at his brain, having confirmation that something more sinister was indeed going on, he knew that purposefully investigating further would only endanger himself and likely Martin by proxy. Stick to incidental findings only. Don’t chase Lukas, finish up work as fast as possible, then get the hell back to London to sift through it all.

The one thing he couldn’t shake though was the desire to help. Perhaps not only would seeing Martin speed up the process of leaving, maybe it would clue him in to any help he could possibly provide. If Martin needed to get out of a bad situation, Jon felt beholden to offer what resources he could.   
  


* * *

  
They were back down at the beach again, an area off the beaten path cast in the glow of a slowly descending sun. Martin adjusts some of the equipment laying on the rocks, shuffling instruments next to each other and so on in familiarity with Jon’s preferences, while the latter sits on the ground with his notebook glued to his knee, drawing out some charts. 

“Oh, tch.” Jon tuts. He scribbles the pen hard on the paper but the lines remain clear. He even shakes the pen a few times, scribbling harder, but still no ink comes out. “Martin, do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine just ran out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin unzips his bag, fishing out a pen from one of the interior pockets. He always had a few spares on him for the cheap, little poetry booklet he kept around but it’s filled with more crossed out words than anything decent. 

  
Things go on as usual until Jon stops asking for direct assistance, at which point Martin finds himself gazing off in the distance, the gentle ambience of the calm tide entrancing him into loose thought. 

Him and Jon met at that spot across the shore. Even though the beach blends together for most of the way, Martin could pick it out in an instant. He’s passed by the old memory a few times since moving to Bournemouth, not doing much besides smiling nostalgically. Now here he was with Jon once again. It’s still such an unbelievable coincidence, like something out of a cheap film. Though the cliché nature hasn’t done anything to stop Martin’s heart from running amok, conjuring up all the fanciful ways their relationship could blossom into something more. 

As far as he can tell, Jon still hasn’t realized yet and Martin is conflicted about his own options: does he bring it up himself, let Jon figure it out/bring it up, or just leave it alone to never be spoken about all together? 

Maybe Jon does know and hasn’t said anything because it doesn’t matter to him. Just a brief moment in his childhood, not twenty years of wishful thinking. Not overestimating what he could mean to someone else. 

Martin stares out at the sea, dully hoping it might provide some sort of guidance. 

While staring off, he hears Jon say something but the gusty wind muffles his voice. 

“What was that, Jon? Couldn’t hear you.” Martin asks and awaits a reply that doesn’t come.   
  


_Engrossed in his work as usual, probably mumbling observations to himself all cute._

_God, quit it. Probably didn’t hear you over the wind either.  
  
_

“Martin!!” 

Now he definitely hears Jon’s urgent shout above the wind.

“Jon? What—” He whips his head around but cuts short when adrenaline grips him. Jon and a seal are both fighting over his backpack, the one which he incidentally left open from earlier and _the one that has his pelt inside._ Martin feels his whole body tense up and he knows full well why the seal is here. 

For starters, she’s an actual seal, around 1-2 years old. Martin had affectionately nicknamed her Saoirse and she loved to play. They had made a little game where Saoirse would pull out Martin’s coat from his bag if she found him alone on the beach. Then she’d drag it into the ocean, coaxing him down to swim a bit, and Martin would happily oblige. It’s all cute and fun, but right now she has the literal worst timing in the world. 

“Martin, a little help?!” Jon shouts, feeling his grip on the bag weaken. Martin rushes over to assist, grabbing onto one of the bag straps. With his added strength to the grapple, Saoirse clamps down even harder, a whimsical glint in her eyes. Martin shakes his head lightly at her, communicating that no, now is not the time for playing. Reluctantly, Saoirse finally lets go, the momentum sending Jon and Martin stumbling backwards, the bag snapping square into Jon’s chest. 

Martin takes a few steps forward, shooing Saoirse back into the ocean. She whines, hesitantly bouncing a bit away and if that doesn’t just break Martin’s heart. He whispers that he’ll come back later to spend time with her and she seems to understand, squeezing her eyes shut to imitate a smile, before slipping off into the waves. Martin rests his hands on his knees for a moment and sighs, thankful for a crisis averted. 

Well, not entirely.

Remembering his bag, Martin whips around only to see the bulk of his coat draped across Jon’s lap, the latter inspecting it closely. 

“What on earth…?” Jon whispers aloud, pinching a flipper between two fingers then letting it flop back down with a dull slap. Whatever this is, it’s massive and literally the last thing Jon had expected to be pulled out of a backpack. He traces along the details of the coat, speckles of light and dark grey with a white underbelly. It looks like seal skin. He sews a hand through the material, smooth and velvety one way, bristly the other. It even feels like seal skin, now that he’s had enough interactions with actual seals to gauge the accuracy. So the next question on his mind is glaring:  
  


_Why in the world does Martin of all people have a seal pelt in his bag?_ _  
  
_

Martin freezes up watching Jon stroke his pelt. It felt...intimate? To be letting something of a stranger hold it — well, not exactly a stranger, more like a man he met a month ago who just didn’t happen to know he’s a selkie. No matter who, someone touching his pelt so casually was making a blush spread across his already red cheeks. 

He snaps out of his trance when Jon makes a small scream, having found the head of the pelt and immediately dropping it. Which, granted, it is pretty creepy, even to Martin who’s had it since he was born. Creepy or not though, he’d like it back immediately. 

“Um, I think that’s, uh, mine…” Martin chokes out, feeling lightheaded from the blood rushing to his head as he takes a few steps over. 

“Martin, is this a — a seal pelt?” Jon sputters, shoving most of the coat off his lap. 

“T-that? Oh no, no, it’s...” Martin keeps up a cheery smile while his mind races, combing through for any believable excuse. Tim and Sasha were the last people he had to lie to, but it was never so suddenly on the spot like this; and, well, when they had freaked out, Martin trusted them enough to end up telling them the whole truth. But he didn’t know Jon well enough to come clean. Martin’s split moment of silence culminates when he settles on the best lie he could make under pressure. 

“It’s a beach towel!”

Jon stares at him in disbelief. Martin crumbles a bit under his stare, going off on a tangent with too many qualifiers. 

“Um, you know, like one of those novelty ones? Seals are my favorite so I thought it would be fun to have a towel like one. It’s really great! I mean, like, wow, it’s super warm, gets you dry in an instant. I do swim a lot so...that’s...helpful...” Martin trails off, curling into himself. He prays the lie is enough to win against Jon’s scrutiny. 

Jon blinks a few times, mouth slightly agape as he tries to make sense of the words enough to form an appropriate response. The best he can manage is, 

“O-kay? Hm.” Jon frowns, tight-lipped, still thoroughly unconvinced the pelt is fake. It really looks and feels exactly like a seal.   
  


_With a grossly detailed head on it to match. Why the hell would Martin buy something like this? Much less, who is making these?!  
  
_

An unbearable silence follows, Jon staring down at the ground pensively and Martin flicking restlessly between his pelt and Jon. He wrings his hands together, trying to calm his nerves. Jon doesn’t look convinced but his hesitant agreement is enough for right now, as long as Martin gets his pelt back. But he doesn’t want to snatch it up when it’s so close to Jon, lest he reveal how important it is.

“Right, so...can I...have it back?” Martin’s voice lilts at the end and he points a finger downwards. Thankfully, Jon obliges, seeming too confused to withhold the coat in exchange for further questioning. 

“Oh, uh, right. Yes, here.” Jon picks up the edges of the coat, grimacing from the thought of touching dead skin, and quickly deposits it into Martin’s waiting arms. 

Martin feels his face grow even hotter, suddenly reminded of the myth that returning a selkie their coat is the equivalent of a marriage proposal. Or was it keeping the pelt? Either way, Jon held it and gave it back and now Martin can barely look him in the eye. He quickly folds it up, fumbling with all the loose ends, then shoves it back into his bag, not even caring if his stuff got wet. He just wanted it out of sight and to leave as soon as possible. 

“So, do you need any more help today, Jon?” Martin forces out, zipping up his backpack tight then slinging it over his shoulders. 

“Um…” Jon glances over his shoulder at his equipment still spread out along the shore. He isn’t entirely done with the experiment but would prefer to be alone with his thoughts right now, so he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“Okay! I was just thinking that maybe we should, uh, get outta here. This seems like a spot where the seals like to beach. Wouldn’t want to keep it from ‘em. Might try to bite us or steal your equipment or something.” Martin tries to joke, but smiles too wide. 

“You might be right. I’ll end early today.” Jon tries to smile back, but it borders on a grimace. Both of them think back times where a certain seal coddled a receptive hydrologist, blatant contradictions to their feigned worry about another intrusion. 

“Do you want me to help you clean up?” Martin offers, feeling like the words are spilling out of his mouth. He reaches out a hand but stops short when Jon lifts his arm defensively across the pile of equipment. 

“N-no, I’ve got it. You can go on without me. I’ll handle it.” Jon dismisses him with a wary expression. It stings to see him become so guarded but Martin fights the instinct to offer his help again, knowing distance is the safest option right now. He struggles to leave without providing any consolation, wanting to tell Jon there’s nothing to worry about, but Martin can only give a resigned smile. 

“Right. If you insist. Figured I’d ask. Well, I guess I’ll…see you?” Martin hunches his shoulders at the parting phrase, certain it’s now lost all merit. 

“Yeah. See you. Thanks for helping.” Jon avoids his eyes by turning around, pretending to get his things together. Martin doesn’t need more of a cue to leave, taking the shortest way home.   
  


* * *

  
The door shuts with the soft click of the lock. Martin lets his backpack slump off his shoulder and hit the floor with a heavy thud. He bumps his forehead lightly against the door, resting it there with a groan. 

Nothing like a heaping dose of reality to make his heart ache. 

He wished being a selkie didn’t come at the cost of his trust. Justifiably, it was for his own safety but he hated it; having to skirt around the truth for every single person he called a friend until deciding the time was right then praying he wasn’t wrong. The fear his mother instilled in him is overpowering; the defining factor in how he judges people, relationships, love, self-worth, everything... 

Over all the noise in his head, Martin hopes Jon will come through where it counts. It would be a pretty cruel joke for the universe to play, arranging a fateful reunion only for it to end in disaster.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bickering in this chapter was sooooo fun to write between us, and also the drama of it all starting to come out >:)cccc but don't worry, they'll sort it all out and get their happy ending
> 
> Leo: take a fucking sip babes, this took so long because we wanted to make it excellent (plus we had to rework some parts and add some scenes lmao)  
> Bri: S.S. Stoker was my idea and i'm sorry for immortalizing it in this fic

**Author's Note:**

> all pictures that will be seen in this fic are done by my wife, bri (you can find her at @orderforbrian on twitter)


End file.
